


The Parent Trap

by libertea (seeyousoo)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-01 01:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18325964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeyousoo/pseuds/libertea
Summary: Alfred and Matthew are sixteen years old when they discover they are actually twins. In a sudden and dramatic twist of fate, the brothers hatch a plan to get their adopted parents back together. This is a story of friendship, mischief, and hopefully, love.Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Before you read this story, I have to explain a little bit of backstory!
> 
> This fic was posted here on ao3 between 2014-2016 when I was very active in the Hetalia fandom. Even though it was quite popular, for a number of reasons I failed to update it for about three years and eventually deleted it from the site when I started writing for other fandoms. However !!! I recently found it again after browsing through my old laptop and for the sake of nostalgia I decided that I would edit and reupload it! If this story seems at all familiar, this is probably why lol
> 
> I can't say that I will ever update it, and if I do it won't be any time soon. I stopped following Hetalia in 2016 so i'm very foreign to the fandom now and i feel i would not be able to do this story and these characters justice. Nevertheless, i hope you enjoy this story ! Teenage me put a lot of work into it and adult me is still somewhat proud of the first ever fic I wrote and put online. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I did writing it all those years ago.
> 
> Now enough of the backstory! Happy reading!

Matthew realised instantly that agreeing to go to the W Camp for Boys Aged 14 to 18 was a horrifically bad decision. The car hadn't driven three metres into the entrance before he knew he was not going to enjoy his time there at all.

The camp was alive and scattered with children and adults alike. People - mainly boys, of course - dived out of the way of the approaching vehicle, carrying their heavy, bulging bags and rucksacks over their shoulders or under their arms. The campers were of all shapes and sizes, laughs loud and boisterous, hair plastered to their faces as they sauntered down the dirt track to where others were waiting to be assigned a cabin for the duration of their stay. One boy, who appeared to be twice the width of Matthew, flexed his muscles and punched the nearest boy in the shoulder, causing them to wrestle right there in the mud and heat of the pulsating sun. Matthew stared at his reflection in the rear-view mirror.

Blonde. Blue eyes. Pale skin. Glasses. Oh, he was so screwed.

It wasn't that he was short or bony or anything of the kind. In fact, he was quite tall for a 16 year old boy, almost towering over his father and his friends. He was well built, had a broad and sculpted figure, courtesy of several years of hockey and skating. It was more of the fact that he was polite, reserved, and patient. That's why he was there; his father felt he needed a confidence boost, a chance to meet new people and speak out once in a while. Matthew thought it was pointless. No matter how hard he tried to be involved, he would be drowned out and thrown out by the rowdy, loud and hyperactive crowd that he would have to stay with. It was always the case.

But he had promised. So there he was.

“Are you alright, Mateo? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

He swallowed in an attempt to make his voice sound calmer. “Yes, I', fine, Antonio,” he stuttered out, smiling softly at his concerned uncle's face. “Just a bit nervous, I guess. I've never been away from home for so long before.” 

Antonio flashed a warm smile back before turning around to face the front again. “¡Dios mío, Gilbert! Slow down before you kill someone!”

The man driving merely cackled. “It's the stupid brat's fault for getting in the way,” he hissed as they swerved away from yet another child who hadn't seen the car coming up behind him. How they missed it was a mystery. It was pure white and practically emitted its own aura it was so pristine. It made Matthew giggle slightly to see the German get so riled up about it. “Move out the fucking way, you little shits!” he yelled, causing Antonio to gasp in horror. “God, I hate children. They're so annoying.”

“Gilbert! Language! Franny will have our heads if he finds out you've been saying such vulgar things in front of Matthew.”

“Oh shut up. Frenchy says stuff in front of him all the time.”

“It's not the same-,”

“Ja, ja. Whatever. We're here anyway.”

Matthew twisted his hands in his lap as the car grinded to a halt. Shaking with nerves, he pushed open the door and climbed out. He was hit with a wall of thick heat and felt the fabric of his shirt stick to his skin with sweat far too quickly than he would have liked. He wanted to go back into the car where there was air conditioning, but stood still and waited quietly as his uncles gathered the bags from the trunk of the car, kicking the dirt beneath his feet.

"Okay, that should be the last of it," Gilbert grunted as he dropped the final and heaviest bag onto the ground. He turned to the young boy, putting his hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly. "You ready, kid?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Matthew mumbled back. He looked down and kicked the dirt some more. He was about to kick a particularly large stone when he felt a large pair of warm arms wrap around him and pull him into a deep hug. 

"Oh, Mateo. Please smile. You'll have lots of fun here, we promise."

"All this fresh air, sun, it's good for you dude. Plus if you ever get bored, there are plenty of punch bags here at your disposal. It's gonna be totally awesome!"

"Please ignore him, Mateo."

Matthew laughed and returned the hug, inhaling the familiar scent of roasting tomatoes and fresh rosemary that Antonio seemed to emit. The older man rubbed his back and squeezed him tighter before letting him go and standing up straight. "If you ever feel like you've had enough and want to go home, do not hesitate to call me or Gilbert and we will get here as soon as we can!" Really, Matthew thought, they didn't have to make so much fuss. He was nervous, but he wasn't a baby, and he could take care of himself well enough. But then again, his family had always been overly protective of him, for whatever reason. 

Gilbert sent him a broad grin that oozed with mischief. "If I find out that any of these pipsqueaks have been stirring shit, I will personally kick their asses for you! And you totally have to let me, okay? None of this pacifist bullshit."

Matthew let out a light breath of air that could be mistaken for a chuckle. "Yeah, I know. Thank you for driving me here." He picked up the bags, lugging the largest over his shoulder and the smallest under his arms, and sent his uncles as big a smile as he could muster. Antonio's eyes began to swell and his bottom lip quivered. "I'll be off then. Bye, guys."

Ignoring the Spaniard's woeful sobs and the sound of Gilbert whacking his friend not so affectionately up the back of his head, Matthew dragged himself unwillingly towards the pulsating crowd. He could already feel judgmental eyes on him.

This was going to be a long holiday.

 

*

 

It was the seventh time in the space of five minutes that Alfred had been asked to pull a person's bag out of the perpetually growing pile of cases and luggage. Not that he minded of course. He was always willing to help someone out, even if it did make the muscles in his arm ache with the amount of heavy lifting he had done that morning. He flashed a pearly white smile to his current damsel, a short-ish boy that looked a few years younger than him with long brown hair and big green eyes, before dragging a bright yellow bag from under the pile with one strong tug. "Here you go!" he beamed, making the boy stutter as he dropped the bag into his hands.

Alfred watched in amusement as a deep blush began to spread across the boy's cheeks. He stifled a laugh. This kid was doomed if he turned into a bumbling wreck that quickly. Alfred had been to many all-boy camps in his life and one of the things he had learned in that short amount of time was that the big kids will do anything to stay on top of the heap, even if it means squashing a few of the smaller lads to get there.

It was a good job Alfred was such a nice guy, if he did say so himself. He grinned wider. "You're welcome. Always here to help a friend!"

"Friend?" the other boy spluttered.

"Yeah, friend. Since we're goin' to be spending the next few weeks together all cosy, we might as well get to know each other now!" He stuck out his hand. "The name's Alfred. Alfred F. Kirkland."

The boy hesitantly put his hand in Alfred's, allowing the taller of the two to vigorously shake their hands up and down. "My name is Toris Laurinaitis," the boy stuttered. "I-It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You too, buddy! Have you been to one of these camps before?"

The boy gave a half-hearted smile. "N-no." 

Alfred figured as much. "Well you've met the right guy! I go on these camp things all the time, there ain't nothing I don't know about these places." Alfred clapped Toris on the back. It was more forceful that he had intended, and Toris let out a rather loud choking noise, but he seemed to be fine. Alfred pulled the brunette into a one armed hug. "Let's stick together, okay?"

"Erm, I don't-,"

"Awesome!"

The sound of a whistle pierced the air and drew the boys' attention to a large pole in the middle of the camp. Behind the pole stood rows and rows of cosy looking wooden cabins, each with a picture of a forest animal and a flickering flag above the door. Alfred grinned at his new companion before grabbing Toris' shoulder and leading him reluctantly to the group of boys that began to grow around the source of the whistle. The noise was so great that Alfred could barely hear himself think before a gunshot stabbed the air and silenced every sound.

"Thank you, Vasch," said a man who Alfred assumed to be the camp leader. He was small and slightly chubby, and had kind smile as he beamed brightly at the eager boys in front of him. The man next to him, Vasch apparently, did not look at happy. Sporting an emotionless scowl, he pocketed his rifle in a holster on his back and glared at the crowd, some of which backed away to avoid his piercing stare.

"Hello everyone! My name is Tino, and this is Vasch," the smaller man gestured to his frowning companion, "and welcome to W Camp! We hope you enjoy you stay here and have lots of fun doing all the activities we have lined up for you guys. You might even discover something about yourself along the way that you never even knew!"

Alfred sniggered. The only thing he wanted to discover was the location of the shower and where he could get a hot meal before bed. Some of the other campers seemed to have the same idea. Tino didn't seem like the kind of guy that knew how to work with teenage boys. His small frame and soft tone seemed more appropriate for babies.

"Now, I know you're all desperate to get settled, so I'll hand you over to Vasch and he will tell you which cabin you'll be staying in. Each one has a picture of the animal they are named after, so don't worry about getting lost! You'll start your activities tomorrow, so for now just get comfortable and spend some time getting to know your cabin mates. Dinner is at 7 and lights are out at 9, so you have plenty of time to do so! If you have any questions or concerns, please do not be afraid to find me or one of the other camp leaders so we can help you in any way we can! Okay Vasch, over to you!"

With one final smile at the group, Tino skipped away. Vasch, on the other hand, was not as cheerful as his co-worker. With one look he silenced the boys and pulled a small stack of paper out of his jacket. Alfred could feel Toris stiffen beside him.

"Listen up," Vasch barked, like a general addressing his troops. "I am going to tell you which cabin you will be living in. When I call your name, retrieve your luggage and head straight to the cabin you were assigned to. These arrangements are permanent. I will not accept any disrespectful behaviour in my camp."

Alfred had never met a guy like this at one of these camps before. They were usually like Tino, bright and sunny with a cheerful disposition that made them seem patronising yet approachable. Vasch was the complete opposite. He looked like he preferred to be doing anything else but care for kids. Alfred tried to keep his excitement contained at the thought of all the ways he could rile this guy. It would be a new experience for him, trying to sneak past the camp guard dog in the middle of the night to get supplies for a midnight snack. Screw everything else, this would be the most fun he would have in his life!

Vasch paused to scan the crowd. Satisfied with the lack of complaints, his lips curled into what Alfred assumed was a smile and turned to the first sheet of paper in his hands. He bellowed out a list of names and every sixth name came the name of the cabin they were to stay in. Boys scampered off like scared mice, not wanting to stay in the company of Vasch and his rifle for a moment longer than they needed to.

"Adnan. Kohler. Hendriks. Karpusi. Kirkland. Laurinaitis. Cabin Eagle."

"Dude, we're totally in the same cabin! Must be fate, right?" Alfred laughed before grabbing Toris by the arm and dragging him off in the direction of the cabins, ignoring the boy's protests. The cabin was the ninth one down on the furthest row and, to much of Alfred's delight, the closest to the food hall. It took them a while to find it and they got lost several times, mainly due to Alfred claiming he knew 100% where he was going and refused to listen to Toris' advice of asking for directions. Above the door of the cabin was carved a great bald American eagle flying majestically below the stars and stripes of the flag above it. Alfred felt the need to salute the creature before kicking open the door and hurling himself and poor Toris inside.

"'Sup folks! The name's Alfred, and this here is Toris. It's nice to meet you guys."

The other campers had already unpacked their bags when Alfred and Toris burst inside. One of them was sat on top of a chest of drawers and had his arm braced on the window, a cigarette in hand. Another was lying on his bed and appeared to be asleep. The second tallest, a tall guy with dark skin who was wearing white sunglasses, put down the clothes he was folding and strutted over to Alfred. He stuck his hand out and Alfred took it enthusiastically.

"Sadiq," he said, flashing a grin so wide it rivalled Alfred's own. "That's Mathias." He gestured to boy with spiky blonde hair who waved with enthusiasm from where he was sat on his bed; "and that's Jan," he said, nodding towards the smoking boy, who grunted in response. "And sleeping beauty over there is Heracles." Heracles mumbled a quiet "hello," before rolling over and falling asleep again. "It's nice to meet you too."

Alfred beamed. This was going to be the best holiday ever!


	2. Chapter 2

Matthew didn't really know what to think of the fellow campers in Cabin Bear. When he first met them a few days ago, he was surprised at how bizarre and strange they were.

Firstly there was Ivan, a Russian boy the same age as Matthew who smiled a lot at nothing in particular and was so tall that Matthew was afraid he would go through the ceiling. Despite the crushing summer heat, he always wore a scarf, which Matthew discovered was a gift from his older sister. Matthew figured he must be toughest person in the world to be able to withstand such incredible temperatures with a thick scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.

Then there was Feliks. Matthew had decided quickly after their first meeting that Feliks was the strangest person he had ever met. He doubted he would ever find someone more obsessed with fashion and the colour pink in the entirety of the universe. He thought that Feliks disliked him at first, due to Matthews awkward disposition, but after he complimented the style of the Polish boy's designer floral skirt (having seen it before in one of his father's magazines) he was certain that all feelings of tension had evaporated into thin air.

Carlos was the oldest of them all. He was slightly taller than Matthew, a boy of 18 with dark skin and long dreadlocks that he would tie into a loose bun on his head. He would sometimes skip lunch or dinner to smoke with some of the other boys behind a crop of trees, but the boy was polite and friendly, and helped clean up the cabin when others refused, so Matthew was willing to ignore his bad habit.

There were two other boys in the cabin that Matthew didn't know very well. They were called Lukas and Eduard. They were nice, but Matthew rarely saw them apart from when they were getting ready for bed or waking up in the morning. When he did, Eduard was always on his phone. Lukas barely spoke. He figured he wouldn't disturb them unless he had to.

Overall, they were pretty cool guys. They knew a lot about a lot of things and could hold a decent conversation without making the atmosphere feel awkward or tense. He found that Carlos was the easiest to talk to. There was something about his relaxed attitude and laid back nature that made Matthew feel like he could tell the guy anything. They often talked about sport, and Matthew noted how his eyes seemed to sparkle a bit with the mention of food. Matthew offered to teach him how to cook tiramisu one day, to which Carlos seemed delighted. That, combined with Ivan's infinite span of knowledge and Feliks' habit of collecting all forms of gossip, made for quite pleasant, if not strangely directed, conversation.

On the other hand, there were some downsides to sharing a small room with five other boys, something that Matthew certainly wasn't used to.

"Right, which one of you fuckers pissed all over the toilet?" yelled Carlos after storming in from the bathroom. Matthew looked up from the book he was reading and glanced at Feliks, who had paused the act of filing his nails to stare at the older boy with a look of pure disgust. 

"I don't know. Maybe it was Ivan?" Matthew replied, though he doubted that Ivan would be that careless. The Russian boy had left earlier that morning to help set up the football pitch, and wasn't in the cabin.

Carlos seemed to share the same thought as Matthew. "The icy guy? Nah, I bet it was one of them other assholes," he growled, clenching his fists. He started to pace around the room. They also weren't in the cabin. Matthew had no idea where they were. "Just wait until I get my hands on them."

Feliks' lips curled further downwards. "Oh my God, like, why does it even matter? You don't need the seat to like, pee or anything. You're totally making a big deal out of nothing."

"I can't take a dump if the seat is covered in piss, can I?"

Feliks gagged. He dropped his nail file on his bed and stood up to open a window. Matthew buried his head into his book. "Seriously? We like, just had breakfast. Why do you have to act like such a pig this early in the morning?"

"You seem pretty defensive, huh? It was you, wasn't it?"

Matthew managed to cover his sudden burst of laughter with a spluttered cough into the pages of his book. Feliks did not find the accusation nearly as funny. "You seriously think I would like, do something that gross? Wow, you must be like, really fucking stupid."

"Me? Stupid? You can barely string a sentence together properly and you're calling me stupid? Have you looked in the mirror lately, asshole?"

This was a common occurrence in the cabin that Matthew could not help but find hilarious. Carlos, or one of the other boys, would make a mess somewhere or make a comment that Feliks found vulgar or annoying and he would call them out on what they had done. It just so happened that everyone in the cabin but Matthew had very assertive personalities that hated backing down from an argument. At first, Matthew found it a little unnerving when they randomly burst into action, but after spending a few days with them he realised that it was nothing unusual and that they were, most of the time, joking.

Most of the time.

The cabin itself was of a decent size, large enough to fit six beds, a few bedside tables, a couple of drawers for spare items and room for walking space, but still small enough to promote a feeling of cosiness and home comfort. Matthew was surprised and glad to have found a bathroom attached to their living space, half expecting to have to wash and go to the toilet outside in a dirty porter loo of some sort.

When Matthew looked up again, Feliks and Carlos were stood chest to chest in the centre of the room. It was quite a funny sight, little blonde petite Feliks trying to 'out height' the larger, more muscular Carlos who was nearly a foot and a half taller than him. For a second it looked like something bad was about to happen when Carlos lifted his arm up and balled his hand into a fist, but the unbelievably loud bang of Vasch's gun going off made the boys leap apart. They stared at each other in anger for a few seconds before Feliks strutted over to his bed and began throwing his water bottle, spare clothes and a few other random items into his backpack like he wasn't about to be punched in the face just moments before. 

"Actually, I saw that weird kid Eduard go in before you did, so it was probably him. I think he has like, a problem or something. He goes in there a lot now. See you guys at lunch!" he chirped merrily before skipping between the beds and out of the door with a wave of a perfectly manicured hand.

Carlos sighed. "Oh well. Need a shit," he grumbled, and turned around and walked briskly into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and leaving Matthew alone in the cabin. With a slightly shocked expression, Matthew put his book down and started to pack his own bag, ready for the day ahead.

 

*

 

Alfred hated rain.

He hated it. There was so much about it that he didn't like: the feel of it, cold and wet and just plain horrible; the bitter, earthy stench that trailed behind it as the ground rotted away with every drop; the evident feeling of melancholy that hung around in the air and made everyone act so mopey and depressed. He always thought he would eventually get used to it - he had lived in England since he was thirteen, and three years in a country with a sky that never seemed to be any colour other than grey must count for something. But he never had gotten used to it, and probably never would.

So when he signed up to do cross-country hiking, believing that he would be enjoying a casual stroll through the forest that would give him a chance to relish in joy in the country of his heart, he did not expect it to be hours of painful, agonizing hell in the middle of a muddy field at the hands of mother nature and her ridiculous weather bullshit. When the group arrived back at camp, he was certain that he would rather chew his own arm off than ever walk again. 

It didn't matter that Heracles was with him the entire time. The guy was as useful on the hike as an inverted umbrella. As soon as he reached his cabin he dived straight into the shower and spent almost half an hour letting the hot water fall over him before even thinking about washing properly, feeling the water burn his skin and remove every trace of mud on his body.

But there was one thing he hated more than rain.

"Oh my God, why is the lunch queue so damn long!" he droned loudly for the third time that day. "I swear to God, if all the burgers are gone by the time we get there I will cry."

"Better get some tissues fast then. There are only four left," Toris reported while wobbling on his toes to get a better look. 

Alfred groaned into his hands. There were at least twenty people between him and his precious burgers. "First the walk from hell and now this. I thought camp was meant to be fun."

Toris did not seem the least bit sympathetic. "This is what happens when you agree to do cross-country, Alfred. It's common knowledge around here that it is not for the weak of heart."

Alfred's head snapped out of his hands. "Hey! My heart is not weak! I just like to keep my boots free of naturally occurring water features, thank you very much."

Toris sighed hopelessly and returned to peering around the wall of bodies. Alfred continued to grumble to himself. "What did you do, anyway? Please tell me you had a little fun as I did. I need someone to share my pain."

"There's an indoor ice rink in a building near here. I played hockey."

"OH MY GOD, HOCKEY. Why did I not play hockey?" Alfred sobbed dramatically into his hands again.

"You should have done. It was very fun. There was this boy there who completely destroyed everyone. He was very fast."

"Who was he?"

"I am not sure. I think he had glasses."

"Wow, thanks."

Toris delivered a swift kick to Alfred's shin with the back of his foot. Alfred didn't even flinch and kept on whining into his hands about how awful his life was. Alfred did not think his day could get any worse before Toris delivered the final blow. "Alfred?"

"Yeah," he sniffed, his voice muffled by his hands covering his face.

"Please don't cry, but someone just took the last burger."

"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!"

Alfred let out a yell so loud it made Toris jump and a person nearby drop their tray full of food. He could not take it anymore. With a growl that he didn't know he could make, Alfred stormed out of the queue and down the long line of people in a fit of delusion, his eyes set on the person at the front. He was going to give that kid a piece of his mind. How dare they steal the last burger from him! Alfred deserved it the most out of everyone there for how much he had suffered. Ignoring Toris' shouts of protest and several calls from others around him, he marched closer to the front of the queue, dead set on teaching the thief a lesson.

He was so blinded by his desperate hunger that he didn't notice the small puddle of water that had leaked through the roof of the dinner hall and onto the floor. As soon as his foot hit the water, he went falling and flying, crashing into an unfortunate soul who had just gone to the front to ask for another fork, sending them both to the ground in a pile of tangled limbs.

 

*

 

"Alfred! Alfred, are you okay?!"

"Oh my God, Matthew!"

A crowd of people had begun to swarm around the pair, who were still sat crumpled on the floor. Matthew felt himself being lifted up off the ground by a pair of skinny arms and when he was fully on his feet again he turned to thank his helper. The boy was shorter than him and his wide green eyes blinked rapidly as he spewed apology after apology for his friends behaviour. If it wasn't for the throbbing stab of pain in his leg, Matthew would have told him to stop worrying.

Matthew looked up. Everything looked burred and fuzzy, and Matthew realised that his glasses had fallen off at some point during the crash. He squinted his eyes enough to see what looked like a patch of lilac covering a blob of white, which he assumed to be Ivan, patting a floating orb of bright yellow, which must have been the boy who had crashed into him, and Feliks brushing down his clothes. He knew it was Feliks right away due to the mysterious traces of glittery pink that flickered in his vision with every speck of dust that he wiped off the other person.

"That was quite a fall, Matthew. You are okay now?"

"Erm, bro. I'm Alfred."

"Huh?" When the other boy spoke, Ivan and Feliks ceased their ministrations and seemed to be staring at the boy in shock. Something strange must have happened as they moved away, and through the blur Matthew could make out that they were whispering to each other.

The other boy seemingly decided to ignore their weird behaviour and turned towards Matthew. Matthew couldn't see much of his appearance, only that he was around the same height as him and blonde. "Hey man, sorry about that, but you should watch where you're going next time-,"

"Alfred, wait!"

The boy, who Matthew now knew was called Alfred, went to take a step forward, but stopped suddenly in his tracks when a harsh crunching sound erupted from the place he had put his foot. An empty feeling settled in Matthew's gut.

Alfred had stepped on his glasses.

"Did you just…?" he gasped in disbelief. He just broke Matthew's glasses. Now what was he going to do? Sure, he had a spare pair in his bag in the cabin, but both pairs were so ridiculously expensive that his father had to pay an arm and a leg for them. He could almost feel the burning gaze of his Papa when he would have to tell him. Matthew's stomach writhed in anger.

He heard someone slap their palm onto their face as Alfred chuckled awkwardly and bent down to tug the glasses from under his feet. "Sorry," he said, his voice perhaps not as sympathetic as Matthew would have liked. Matthew took them from his hands and felt the crooked frame and cracked lenses between his fingers before standing up straight and sliding them carefully onto his nose. 

"With all due respect, I-"

Their eyes met for the first time. The building could have set on fire and Matthew wouldn't have noticed. The world seemed to have stopped. For a second, Matthew could have sworn he was staring into a mirror.

A fit of rage boiled over him. Alfred didn't look sorry at all. In fact, he looked rather smug as he flashed a wide grin to the people nearby who had stopped eating momentarily to watch the ensuing chaos. Without thinking about what he was saying, Matthew crossed his arms and started to shout. "Maybe you should use you your brain and learn not to run like a child in crowded places! Do you have any idea how much these glasses cost? Maybe you should watch where you're going, eh? Screw you!"

In one last act of frustration, he angrily shoved past the boy and stormed off through the surrounding crowd and out of the lunch hall door, knocking Alfred violently to one side as he did so. He didn't look back and kept marching until he was inside his cabin and rummaging through his belongings to locate his spare glasses.

He decided at that moment that he did not like this Alfred boy. Not at all.


	3. Chapter 3

"Who the fuck does he think he is talking to me like that? God, what an asshole." 

Alfred grumbled to himself as he paced around the cabin, arms shoved deep into his jacket. No one made any movement to indicate that they were listening to what he was saying, apart from Mathias, who hummed in agreement but did not lift his eyes from where they were glued to his game console. Alfred didn't care that he was ranting to empty air. He just needed to blow off some steam.

"Did you hear what he said? 'Do you have any idea how much these glasses cost?' Who is he, fucking Kim Kardashian?"

"To be fair, you did crash into him," Jan mumbled from across the room with a cigarette in his mouth. Toris lifted his head out of his book and nodded in agreement. "And you broke his glasses."

"More like smashed," said Heracles. His voice came out muffled and almost completely unintelligible due to his face being buried deep into his pillow. Alfred stopped pacing and turned to glare at them, his eyebrows raised, unimpressed at their attitude towards the situation. They were his friends, they should be supporting him in his moment of distress!

"Well, yeah. But I apologized, like any decent human being would. And he should have been a decent human being back and forgiven me. But no, he just screamed at me like a little queen. Moron. Doesn't know how apologizing works, must have been raised by bears."

"That's really not how the world works, Alfred," Toris said. Alfred flagged him before returning to his melodramatic pacing, mumbling angrily to himself. The room was quiet, if not for Alfred's irritated muttering, when suddenly Toris put down his book and stared at the blonde with scrutinizing eyes. 

"Hey, didn't you notice that he looked a lot like you?"

Alfred spluttered, the tips of his ears turning red. He had hoped that Toris had forgotten about that little piece of information. Evidently not. But Alfred wasn't prepared to accept that what his friend had said was annoyingly true.

"W-what are you even talking about, bro? You blind or something? We don't look anything like each other…."

"I heard you two were almost identical," said Jan. "Like, even his friends couldn't tell you guys apart."

"Yeah, it was weird. Like some bizarre optical illusion. Oh, Alfred, what if you two are actually related?"

Alfred pouted, choosing to ignore the last comment. The conversation really wasn't going his way. His expression darkened when he thought of the boy's long blonde hair and wide violet eyes. He scoffed. No way did that pipsqueak look like him. "I'm nothing like that snooty little mama's boy. We can't all be born with a silver spoon stuck up our ass. Kid's got less presence than a hedgehog's fart. Pretty boy could never match up to me."

"Well you certainly have that right. You definitely ain't pretty.

Alfred grabbed the nearest object he could reach, which happened to be a half empty shampoo bottle, and threw it at the snickering Dane. It hit him right in the centre of his head and bounced off, landing on the floor with a hollow thud. Mathias balked for a second before snatching the empty box to the game he had been playing and chucking it at Alfred as hard as he could throw. Soon the room was littered with random objects that flew from one side to the other like irregularly shaped missiles. Toris shrieked and cowered behind his book as an unplugged lamp zoomed past dangerously close to his head.

Sadiq, who was using a knife he had stolen from the kitchens to carve swear words into the side of his bed, ceased his acts of vandalism to turn to Alfred and Mathias with a look of extreme annoyance. "Would you two just stop acting like you're fucking twelve years old. You're giving me a headache."

The boys stopped throwing things and Mathias sent Alfred an apologetic smile as he dropped to the floor to shuffle around on his hands and knees to retrieve the scattered items. Alfred huffed bitterly and walked over to his bed, plopping himself down and grabbing a pillow, which he hugged tightly to his chest. "I'm just angry, okay? Some friends you guys are…."

Sadiq rolled his eyes. Alfred could really be a baby sometimes. It was amazing to think he was sixteen years old when he pouted and sulked the moment things didn't go his way. Sadiq abandoned his knife and walked over to the morose teen. He stood in front of Alfred and pinched the boy's cheek, causing the other to gasp in pain and glare at the older boy. "What was that for?"

"Listen, Kardesim, you gotta man up. We get that this guy pissed you off, but honestly it isn't a big deal. Some things just aren't worth acting like a whiny bitch over, and this is one of those things."

"I know but-"

"Well obviously you don't know! You've been complaining about the guy for two days now," Sadiq sighed. He pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose at the sight of Alfred's miserable pouting face. "Look, kid, if you really want to bitch about him, do it to his face. Go confront the guy. Let it all out, yell at him, throw a few punches, I don't fucking care as long as you get over this little pity party you're pulling right now and leave us guys in peace."

Confront him? Strangely enough, Alfred hadn't thought about doing that. He was just planning to keep sulking about it until something else came along and distracted him enough to make him forget about the food hall incident. Well, that's what usually happened anyway.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. Could he confront him? It wasn't exactly fully out of the question. Alfred was angry that the boy was rude to him and he did want to do something about it, seeing as he didn't get a chance to before the kid stormed out of the hall. Making up for that by ranting to his friends was obviously doing nothing to quell his fury and was equally as frustrating for his fellow campers, so maybe putting the guy in his place and getting the weight off his shoulders was a good idea that benefited everyone. He had seen Matthew with his friends around camp a couple of times over the past day or so and everyone treated him as if he was the purest and most holiest of angels to ever grace the planet. He certainly needed taking down a peg or two, and if Alfred had to be the guy to do it then so be it.

Then again, Alfred did crash into him. And that was his fault. Matthew had every right to get annoyed at him, and Alfred was sure he would be just as if not more annoyed if he had had his glasses smashed right in front of him like Matthew did. And besides, Sadiq did just say that the entire situation wasn't even that big of a deal, and if it wasn't big enough of a deal to be whining over than surely it wasn't big enough of a deal to get into a proper fight over. Alfred was a hero and heroes did not go around starting unnecessary conflict over nothing.

But Alfred was still angry, still bored, and still tired of the little princess being treated like the light of God was shining out of his pretty little ass. The five pairs of expectant eyes drilling into him from every angle did nothing to douse his sudden burst of enthusiasm.

"Where is the bastard?" he spoke triumphantly as he jumped up and grabbed his rucksack, shoving the necessary items into it before zipping it up and pulling the bag onto his back. Sadiq clapped him on the shoulder and Mathias gave out a cheer while Jan smirked and Toris sighed hopelessly that showed the he would rather be anywhere else. 

Heracles had barely mumbled "Hockey," through his fatigued stupor before Alfred span around and dashed out of the cabin.

Matthew had messed with the wrong guy.

 

*

 

Matthew yawned and twisted his body round to crack his back as he skated in circles around the edge of the rink. His team had just won their second game and were taking a short break before the next one started. Matthew was the only person on the ice. He had politely refused to take a seat with the other members of his team, who were hovering in the stands and chatting about their recent win. 

Matthew loved the ice. He never really had the chance to go skating any more since his Papa's work schedule doubled and he couldn't spend as much time with him. Gilbert and Antonio sometimes offered to take him but Matthew more often than not turned them down. They had their own families to do fun things with. Matthew didn't want to get in the way of that. As soon as he could drive, Matthew vowed that he would go skating as much as he could, with or without his father.

He glided around on the ice a few more times before Tino signalled that the next game would start in a few minutes. He cracked his back again as he skated over to join his team as they all clambered onto the ice. Ivan smiled blissfully at Matthew and gave a little wave. Matthew found it surprising that Ivan was rather good at ice hockey despite his large size. He had been worried that being so big would slow him down and become a handicap for the team, but Ivan was actually one of the fastest skaters Matthew had ever seen. Not as fast as Matthew of course, but with enough effort he could probably give the Canadian a run for his money.

"We shall win this game as well?" Ivan smiled sweetly, patting Matthew on the head. Matthew nodded and pulled his helmet into the place. 

"I certainly hope so. I heard Tino say he's never seen a team win so many times in the history of the camp."

"We had better maintain our reputation then," Ivan chuckled. He slipped his helmet on just as Tino blew his whistle to tell the teams to get into position. Ivan waved as he skated to the right of the net, Matthew following soon after to the centre of the rink. He tapped his hockey stick on the ice as they waited for the game to start, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline surge through him.

"Okay, kids. Red Team against Blue Team. 60 minutes, 20 minutes each third. Good luck everyone! And-"

"Oi, Tino. One of our defensemen backed out. We can't play."

Voices broke out across the rink. Matthew's shoulders slumped and he turned around to see Ivan tilt his head in confusion. The captain of the blue team skated away from his position and pointed at an abandoned pile of hockey equipment and ice skates at the side of the rink. Tino sighed in disappointment. "Oh. Well until we find someone to fill in, I guess we won't be able to play."

Groans of disappointment erupted from the crowd who were sat watching in the stands. The captain of Matthew's team, the Red Team, skated over to the Blue Team's captain and both broke into a heated conversation, Tino calling over from his place in the stands to try and calm the argument. Matthew tapped his stick into the ice again, though in annoyance instead of anticipation. Darn. He was looking forward to playing another match. He had just about lost hope and was preparing to put down his own skates when a sudden cry from the stands stopped him in his tracks.

"I'll do it."

Matthew recognized that voice right away. Sure enough, when he turned to glance at the stands he saw the swaggering figure of the blonde haired, blue eyed bully that crashed into him a few days ago. Alfred, wasn't it? The boy jumped down from the stands and pompously walked towards the edge of the rink. The Blue Team's captain skated over to him and they exchanged a firm handshake before Alfred ran round to the heap of hockey gear and began pulling it onto himself. The people in the stands cheered as if he was a hero that had saved the day.

Matthew found himself smirking. He'd been needing to get back at him for breaking his glasses, and now this was his chance. Matthew wasn't usually one for revenge but Alfred's condescending attitude towards everyone around him rubbed Matthew all the wrong ways. He was going to destroy this guy, and he was going to have so much fun doing it.

Alfred skated flawlessly onto the ice and to his position at the left of his team's net. He tapped his stick onto the ice, grinning broadly behind the safety of his helmet. Matthew tapped his stick too, grimacing at how his little quirk was also something Alfred seemed to have as well. Oh well. Matthew planned to humiliate him so badly that he would never go on ice ever again.

"Ready?" Tino yelled. Everyone shot back a reply and prepared for the game to start. Matthew's eyes met with Alfred's. 

"Bring it on," Alfred mouthed at him.

Tino blew his whistle and dropped the puck. As soon as it hit the ground, Matthew snatched it with his stick and skated as fast as he could towards the other team. In the blink of an eye, the puck shot like a bullet into the net. The other team had barely moved.

There was a moment of deafening silence before the rink burst into sound. Matthew skated back to his team, all of whom whacked him on the back or shook his hand in awe of Matthew's goal. He saw Alfred blanch and swear quietly to himself.

Alfred had messed with the wrong guy.

 

*

 

Fuck. Alfred didn't know what to do. Who would have known that the little queen had some guts in him? He glared at Matthew as the boy accepted the hands and praise from his team mates. God, did he have any modesty at all? He really was a queen, pining after the approval of his subjects. Someone needed to deflate his ego before it burst through the ceiling.

When the teams got back into position. Alfred kept his eyes glued to the puck. He had been so focused on glaring Matthew down that he was too slow to stop the puck from going into the net. Stupid Matthew, distracting him from his job as defenseman with his freaky death stares. Alfred wouldn't make that mistake again.

The puck hit the ice and the players dived into action. Alfred had expected Matthew to steal the puck and fire like he did before, but the guy on Matthew's left snatched the puck instead and Matthew skated towards the side of the rink. One of the forwards on Alfred's team stole the puck and began skating towards the Blue Team's net. They were a few metres away before Matthew slammed the guy into the side of the rink and snatched the puck away with his stick.

Admittedly, Alfred was a little threatened by Matthew. Normally the boy was barely noticeable. He hung around quietly with groups of people and Alfred got the impression that he didn't want to be there in the first place. He was nice to others sure, and his friends mollycoddled him like he was some pampered French poodle, but if Alfred was being honest with himself, the guy was practically a blank slate.

But when he was on the ice, he was a completely different person.

The first third of game ended with the pip of Tino's whistle. The teams parted to their individual sides of the rink. Alfred removed his helmet and used a stray towel that was left on the bench to wipe the sweat from his face. The Red Team was ahead of the Blue Team by four points. Alfred was starting to think that maybe trying to crush Matthew at hockey was a bad idea. The guy was merciless. The whole game seemed futile.

The teams swapped sides and the game continued. After several minutes of skating backwards and forwards with a few goals in-between, Matthew got the puck. Alfred stood firm as he skated rapidly towards him. Matthew whacked the puck and sent it flying towards the net. Just as it was about to zoom past the goaltender, Alfred caught the puck and sent it flying to a member of his own team. The Blue player missed the shot he made anyway, but Alfred could not have been happier to see Matthew's disappointed face turn a violent scarlet.

Seconds later, Matthew was back again. The determined look on his face was enough to make Alfred shiver, not from fear but from anticipation of how glorious it would be when Alfred thwarted his shot for the second time. Just as Matthew was about to shoot, Alfred crashed into him and slammed him into the barriers around the rink. The thrill of it all was overwhelming.

In fact he was so overwhelmed that he didn't see Matthew stand up and storm towards him. The Canadian shoved Alfred with an incredible amount of strength just as he was about to hit the puck towards one of the Blue forwards, sending him crashing to the ground. He landed violently on his side and yelled out in pain as his arm twisted violently.

"Oh, God, sorry! Are you alright? Here, let me help-" 

Furious, Alfred spun onto his back and kicked Matthew hard in the crotch. Matthew swore and grabbed his groin as he tumbled to the ground. Alfred relished in his short victory until he was jabbed harshly in the side of the thigh by Matthew's hockey stick.

As soon as they started throwing punches, the rest of the players and the people watching in the stands had swarmed around them and were cheering the fight on. Tino started blowing his whistle to try and stop the chaos but no one was paying him any attention. "Enough! Stop fighting this instant! Lopeta, lopeta!"

Alfred had landed a poorly aimed slap on Matthew's neck when he felt himself being lifted off of the Canadian and thrown onto the ice a few metres away. The Russian boy that Alfred remembered from the hall incident helped Matthew up from the ground and began to stroke the boy's hair like he was some injured puppy. Matthew was clutching onto his crotch like his life depended on it and was wincing, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. A sudden heat on his face made Alfred realize he was bleeding.

"Leave, both of you! You are both banned from this rink for the rest of camp!"

At the horrified look on Matthew's face, Alfred knew he had won. Getting Matthew banned from the sport he loved was far more satisfying than beating him in a game. He saluted Tino, nodded at the players and bowed complacently at Matthew before spinning round and skating gracefully off the ice. He felt on top of the world.

Little did he know that his joy would not last for much longer.


	4. Chapter 4

News of Alfred and Matthew's fight spread around the camp like wildfire. It wasn't long before everyone knew in precise detail about what had happened. As soon as they heard the news, Ivan, Carlos and Feliks rushed as quickly as they could to the cabin. They found Matthew curled up in a ball under the covers of his bed, a bag of frozen peas between his legs and a horrendous scowl on his face. He didn't move from that spot for hours, missing both dinner and breakfast the next day. The soreness in his groin had faded long before that. Matthew just didn't want to get out of bed. He knew he'd have to face Alfred if he did and he really didn't want to see the American again. The image of his smug face after Matthew was told he was banned from the ice rink kept playing back in his mind.

He was eventually tempted out of his self-made cave when Feliks came to him with a plate of pancakes and a small pot of maple syrup. Apparently it was one of the other campers' birthday so they were all given a special breakfast that morning to celebrate. After some pushing and shoving, Matthew was finally out of the cabin and out doing all the different activities like he was before, only with far less enthusiasm.

Reactions to the story varied. Some saw it as a declaration of war and took to following Matthew and Alfred around the camp in small packs with the hopes that one would happen to trigger the other, providing the onlookers with a few minutes of entertainment while they kicked and scratched at each other's throats. Others viewed the whole affair with nonchalance, believing that a feud was inevitable in that kind of environment and one was going to break out sooner or later. It just so happened to be between those two.

The day after the fight when Matthew walked into the food hall, he felt like every single eye in the room was watching his every move. It was like they were waiting for him to attack Alfred, expecting them to be at it 24/7, which of course wasn't the case. It was crazy how one fight suddenly changed everyone's views on him overnight. Matthew wasn't used to being observed so closely, and it made him rather nervous. He saw Alfred on the far end of the room chatting with a small group on his table. Alfred said something and the people around him burst into laughter like a pack of yowling hyenas. Matthew rolled his eyes. At least they were having a nice time.

The thing that annoyed Matthew the most was that he couldn't play hockey any more. Pretty much all he did in that one week was play hockey, all day, every day. He lived for it. Now that joy had been taken away from him because of one tiny fight, which wasn't fair on Matthew at all. Alfred was the one who started the conflict anyway. Only he should have been banned from the rink, not Matthew. He should be the one suffering, not Matthew.

Simply put, Matthew was not happy with his situation at all. It wasn't until the Saturday of his second week of camp that his luck suddenly turned.

The sun was just beginning to set when the campers gathered in the food hall for dinner. Matthew grabbed his dinner tray and shuffled listlessly over to where Feliks and Carlos were sat at a small table in the corner of the hall. He plopped himself down on the bench and picked miserably at his lasagne with his head in his spare hand as Carlos and Feliks engaged in a vivid conversation about ice cream. Ivan joined them soon after.

"What is the matter, Matthew? You are looking very sad today," the Russian asked, sucking through the straw in his cup of orange juice. 

Carlos broke away from his conversation with Feliks. "You're not still run down about that hockey thing, are you?"

Matthew let out a sigh. He dropped his fork into the lasagne and pushed the tray to the side, resting his head in the space where the tray used to be. "I miss hockey. I had so much fun doing it and now I'm not even allowed in the building to watch, let alone play." His expression darkened when he heard Alfred's raucous laugh from across the room. 

"I could teach silly American a lesson for making you sad," Ivan said, patting Matthew on the head.

Awkwardly brushed Ivan's hand away, Matthew sighed. "It's okay, Ivan. I think the last thing I need is for another fight to break out. I've had enough attention from people expecting me to pounce on them to last me a lifetime."

Feliks swallowed the food he had been chewing before suddenly piping up. "Well, if you don't mind like, a little bit more attention, I totally know of a way you can get back at him. You like, don't even need to do much."

"Go on," Matthew mumbled. He might as well take suggestions. It wasn't like he was going to act on them anyway. Feliks took a sip from his drink before leaning forwards, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial whisper.

"So I was talking to Toris the other day-,"

"Toris? Isn't that the quiet guy from Alfred's cabin?" asked Carlos. Feliks shot him a glare.

"Yes. We're friends. Anyway, don't interrupt. It's like, so rude," he scolded before turning to Matthew. "I was talking to Toris and there's this guy in their cabin called Heracles. He like, sleeps a lot or whatever, and apparently when they were hanging out, they totally found out that Heracles brought an Xbox or some shit with him. I know, weird, right? Anyway, so Toris said that the guys in the cabin are having like, a game night or something."

Matthew lifted his head. "A game night?"

"Yes. There's gonna be banned snacks and stuff, so they kept it a secret from the camp leaders. They invited like, everyone in camp. But not us guys cause they totally hate you."

The Canadian frowned. "Where are you going with this?" he asked irritably.

"Well, I was thinking that if you like, gatecrash their little party or whatever and totally beat him in a game in his own territory, it'll like, totally humiliate him, right? And then you guys would be even."

There were a few beats of silence in which Matthew pondered Feliks' suggestion. Beat Alfred in a game? A video game? It wasn't exactly impossible. Alfred seemed like the video game type and while Matthew didn't play those kinds of games often, he did have some experience due to being close to Gilbert Beilschmidt for most of his life. He had actually beaten him several times, and if he could beat a fully grown adult who lived and breathed for video games like Gilbert then surely he could beat a sixteen year old like Alfred. "You know, that's actually not a bad idea," he said, a grin slowly etching onto his face.

Feliks smirked. "Of course it's not a bad idea. I made it." Carlos and Ivan seemed to be as interested in the idea as Matthew was.

"Yeah…I heard the kid is practically unbeatable," said Carlos. "If you crush him at the thing he does best, it'll be like when he got you banned from hockey. And if you do end up losing, act like it isn't a big deal. Don't give him any satisfaction from it. If you're lucky, he might even ask for another game. Then you have a higher chance at beating him. It's a no lose situation!" He gestured with his sandwich as he spoke, sending pieces of cheese and ham and other fillings flying across the table. One slice of pickle landed in Feliks' hair, causing the boy to shriek in rapid Polish as he tried to pull the slice out of his golden locks.

Matthew's face broke into a wide smile. "You know, I think I might do that. B-but you guys are going to be with me, right?"

"Of course. We will be there to support you. And if he starts a fight then people will think of him as sore loser. He will be very mortified indeed. This is a very good plan."

It was decided. On that night, Matthew Bonnefoy would gatecrash the party at Cabin Eagle and challenge his rival, Alfred F. Kirkland, to a video game battle. The battle would cease the conflict once and for all and the winner would be the victor of their week long feud.

Matthew had never been more determined in his life.

 

*

 

Alfred watched in childlike awe as a bullet ripped through the stomach of his opponent, taking a few of his guts with it and sending a stream of brilliant scarlet splashing to the ground. 

When a bright red GAME OVER sign flashed on the screen, he let out a massive cheer and broke out into a victory dance, waving his arms around and hopping up and down on his bottom. "I'll be taking these, my good sir," he trilled joyfully and scooped up a small pile of sweets and chocolate that was placed on a stack of books nearby, chucking his winnings onto the heap of goodies that sat overflowing by his leg with the flick of his wrist. His opponent groaned in defeat and shuffled off in a walk of shame to join the rest of the onlookers, who either cheered along with Alfred or heckled the loser with chastising boos and hisses.

Alfred stood up and stretched his legs. He'd been sat down for a while, winning game after game with almost no effort at all. He'd beaten seventeen or so opponents so far and all of them by a landslide. Truthfully, he was starting to get rather bored. It had been a while since he last had a decent adversary that could last more than five minutes against him. You'd think that there'd be at least one good gamer in this camp besides himself.

But as long as there was a crowd cheering for him, he would play for a long as he had to.

Mathias grabbed Alfred's hand and lifted it triumphantly into the air. "Alfie wins again!" he boomed, using a rolled up sheet of paper as a megaphone to be heard over the roaring crowd. Their cabin was one of the furthest away from where the camp leaders slept, so they didn't have to worry about being heard. "The undefeated champion reigns supreme! Will anyone be able to steal the crown from W Camp's King of Warfare?"

"Not fucking likely!" yelled Sadiq after taking a drag from his cigarette. He threw a soda can to Alfred from his position on the floor. Alfred caught it easily with one hand and cracked it open, bringing the can to his lips and taking deep gulps of the sickly liquid. The boys in the cabin applauded and drank with him. The smell of smoke and sweat stained the air.

A quiet voice came from the back of the cabin. "I'll have a go," it squeaked. All the boys turned to the source of the noise to see Alfred stood shivering in the doorway. But wait, wasn't Alfred over by the TV?

When the actual Alfred looked to the door, his eyes widened and he choked on his drink. He spluttered as foam shot up his nose and Mathias patted him roughly on the back until he stopped coughing. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Matthew sent back a frown. His cabin mates were stood behind him and one of them, the shortest boy with blonde hair, nudged Matthew forwards. Alfred took a step towards him, his head tilted curiously. 

"I said, what did you say?"

"I'll have a go. At beating you."

The whole cabin burst into laughter, but Alfred stayed quiet. While the other boys pointed and jeered at the Canadian, Alfred just stared at him. What was Matthew doing? Did he honestly think he could beat him? There had to be something more to this.

"What's the catch?" he asked. Matthew didn't seem startled by his comment, confirming Alfred's suspicions that Matthew had ulterior motives.

"I'm not stupid. I know that you only joined the hockey game and started the fight to get at me. If I beat you at this, then we're even."

How boring. Alfred was expecting something better. He scratched his head. "I guess," he agreed, "But that doesn't exactly make things interesting. I want more of a climax when I kick your ass." The boys in the cabin started to snigger. Alfred thought for a second before the perfect idea appeared in his head like a glowing light bulb. "I know," he smirked, walking slowly through the crowd to meet Matthew.

"Whoever loses has to steal something from Vasch's cabin. Risky, dangerous, possible death sentence. Seems like the perfect forfeit if you ask me."

Alfred didn't expect Matthew to step forward. Their chests were almost touching. When he spoke, it was with so much deliberation that Alfred felt the hairs on his neck prickle in excitement.

"Naked."

The cabin burst into sound. Alfred chuckled before taking a few steps back and picking up the spare controller, handing it to Matthew. "I like the way you think," he said, whacking Matthew on the back and shoving him in the direction of the TV. He found himself smirking deceitfully when Matthew turned a greenish white at the sight of the screen.

Alfred had never been more determined in his life.

 

*

 

Matthew couldn't concentrate with the stench of sweat and sour smoke hanging around him like poisonous gas. The cabin was filthy. Dirty clothing and empty beer cans littered the floor along with crumpled food wrappers and a few small packets of tobacco. Anyone would think that a bunch of thirty year old drunkards who had stumbled in from the pub lived here, not six teenage boys. The smell of hot armpits and dried sweat nearly made Matthew gag when he first entered the cabin. Now he was in the centre of it, he was sure he would pass out if he didn't get things over and done with quickly.

The game seemed simple enough. It was your everyday first person shooter, a game called Borderlust: Retribution II, and like all the other first person shooters it focused primarily on big, unrealistic guns and how loud the explosions could get rather than tactics and stealth. "Typical American," Matthew mumbled under his breath. Alfred must have heard him, for Matthew saw his look-alike glare bitterly at him out of the corner of his eye. A circle of spectators gathered around them.

"A new challenger! Let's see if he's got what it takes to knock our champion out of the park!" Mathias boomed behind him. Matthew rolled his eyes. Alfred chose the setting and conditions of the game and hovered over the start button.

"Kirkland VS Bonnefoy, best of three. Are you ready? 3…2…1…GO!"

The two boys jumped into action. They were in what looked like an abandoned theme park. Rusty bumper cars and collapsing food stalls sat rotting away in random places across the weed stricken concrete path, providing many opportunities for cover. The atmosphere was surreal and mist floated eerily over the derelict and corroding roller coasters and attractions. A skeletal Ferris wheel creaked in the wind.

Matthew was so busy exploring his surroundings that he didn't see Alfred creep out from behind a tipped over hot dog stand armed with a loaded M16 assault rifle. A splatter of red and a bright GAME OVER flashed on the screen before Matthew realized he had been killed.

"KIRKLAND WINS! That's round one to Alfie. If he is successful on the next round, it's bye-bye to Bonnefoy!"

Alfred practically oozed with pretension as he turned to Matthew and smirked arrogantly at him. "If you keep daydreaming like that, pipsqueak, you might as well start stripping now. I'm sure Vasch would appreciate that fabulous ass of yours."

"Probably not as much as your mom did last night," Matthew shot back. He didn't know what came over him, but at the look of pure hatred on Alfred's now reddening face proved to him that it was worth it. He ignored the bubbles of guilt that popped inside his stomach and waited for Alfred to customize the conditions for the game again. When the second round started, Matthew made sure to ignore his new environment and dove straight into searching for a weapon and a place to hide.

He had to win this match. Anything to see that face again.

He found a M1911 pistol and some ammunition inside a bumper car and crouched around the map in attempt to locate Alfred. They bumped into each other a couple of times and fired vigorously until the other managed to slip away, but for a while now he couldn't find him anywhere. The boy was an expert at gaming and Matthew had the strangest feeling that he was watching Matthew's every move. He would hear a rustle behind him or the distant bang of a gun going off and would spin rapidly to observe the source of the noise. But there was always nothing there. He felt like a quiet mouse caught in the vigilant gaze of an overly playful cat.

Back in the real world, someone dropped their drink and sent masses of foam spitting into the air. A majority of it landed on Alfred, who swore violently and took his eyes away from the screen to yell at the boy who got sugar in his hair. Matthew took his chance and dashed to where a broken down car had crashed into a tree. Using the car as leverage, he scrambled into the tree and crouched within the leaves. He angled himself just right so that if Alfred happened to glance at his side of the screen it would appear that Matthew was peeping out of a window in one of the abandoned attractions. And there he waited, quietly and silently, trying to hide his snickers with light coughs as Alfred dashed around the park like a headless chicken.

It didn't take long before Alfred stumbled into Matthew's line of sight. With one press of a button, a bullet went straight through Alfred's skull and into the ground below. Matthew didn't know the GAME OVER could look so satisfying.

"Oh my God, I can't believe you would fucking do that! You fucking camper!" Alfred yelled. He punched Matthew in the arm and kicked his leg out in anger. 

"You call it camping, I call it strategic positioning."

"I don't care what you call it, you're a fucking asshole."

The boys in the cabin were struck speechless at Alfred's sudden defeat. Mathias stuttered down his paper tube in shock. "Well, that's…Bonnefoy wins! We thought it wasn't possible, but finally the King of Warfare has found a decent opponent! The next round will decide whether he maintains his glorious crown or faces the wrath of Vasch himself!"

"Good luck, Matthew. I won't go easy on you this time."

"Finally. I was starting to wonder what all the fuss was about. And good luck to you too, Alfred."

"Trust me, I won't be needing it."

"Get ready! 3…2…1…GO!"

No sooner had the screen loaded did the boys sprint as fast as they could to the nearest cover spot. Conveniently, Matthew found a FAL semi-automatic rifle where he was hidden behind a ticket booth. He had barely picked it up before bullets pinged off the booth and into the air like flashes of lightening. When Alfred stopped to reload, Matthew dived out from cover and fired at the American, who was leaning out from under a roller coaster.

They shot at each other for a minute or so until Matthew managed to sprint away into the fog. He kept running, hearing the bullets ricochet off of the numerous obstacles and hurdles in his way. A bullet clipped his shoulder, sending a stream of blood into the air as he jumped over a tipped cotton candy stall. It wasn't enough to kill him, but Matthew felt himself slow down as a result of the damage. The edges of his side of the screen were lined with red veins. "Come on, you can do this," he mumbled to himself.

When he ran into a dead end, stuck between a chipped wall and a pile of splintered wood, he knew it was all over. He had only one bullet left in his gun and no spare packs of ammo at hand. Alfred crept around the corner and stood with his gun pointed at the centre of Matthew's head. Matthew did the same. Neither of them moved for fear that the other person would fire.

"Get ready to start stripping, Bonnefoy."

"I was about to say the same thing, Kirkland."

Before either of them could pull the trigger, the TV went dead. "What the actual fuck?" yelled Alfred, slamming his controller on the ground in anger. "Hey, Herc. What the fuck is up with your-,"

"Having fun, were we? So sorry I ruined your little game."

A chill went down Matthew's spine. Alfred gulped. They both spun around slowly to find themselves staring down the barrel of a real gun. Specifically, the one owned by a certain Swiss camp leader.

Vasch smirked. Alfred confirmed what everyone else was thinking.

"Fuck."


	5. Chapter 5

Those who couldn't slip away into the darkness and evade Vasch's eagle eyes were sentenced to a week of back breaking chores as punishment for breaching nearly half of the camp rules that night. Alfred was made to scrub every single one of the pots, pans, plates, cups, forks and all the other used catering equipment after every meal until he could see his miserable face scowling back at him. Vasch made sure that every inch of every item was cleaned to perfection. Some boys had to shine the shoes of every camp member until not a speck of mud could be seen, while others were given the horrifying task of mucking out the horse stables using only a trowel. Vasch seemed to take sadistic satisfaction in seeing the young boys slave away in suffering for the entire week. By the end of it all, Alfred was certain he would rather swim naked with a bask of starved crocodiles than have to gaze upon another spoon.

He spent the majority of his final day of torture in bed, sleeping away the dull ache and stabbing cramps in his arms. Sadiq was one of the unfortunate souls who had to scoop up manure for those seven long days, and Alfred could smell him long before the boy actually entered the cabin. Even though Alfred loved horses and had even cared for his own when he lived in America, he doubted he could stand mucking them out for a straight week with a spade the size of his hand.

Although, he did admit that it could have been worse. Vasch could have actually shot him. That had to count for something.

Alfred believed wholeheartedly that life in camp was never going to get any better. He was stuck there for another five weeks, and if things went the way he expected them to, they would be the worst five weeks of his entire life.

That was until the second to last day of his fourth week when the announcement was made.

 

*

 

"What do you mean there's going to be a tournament?" Matthew called from the bathroom. He had been scrubbing his hands vigorously under the sink when he heard Feliks relate the news, having been washing all the sport equipment across the whole of camp, including clothing, for the whole day, and had been doing so for the past week as punishment for being caught playing video games. It was night, and all the boys were in bed fast asleep apart from him an Feliks, exhausted from the day of continuous work under the watchful eye of the camp guard dog. Matthew longed to be curled up asleep, but his body was so disgusting that he had to wash every inch of himself before he even thought about climbing into the sheets. The skin on his hands was rife with bruises, blisters and cuts from scraping the mud and filth off of the masses of gear and uniforms for several hours a day. He smelt like old socks and day-old dried sweat. It took all the strength he could muster not to gag every time he breathed through his nose.

He put down the now pin-sized bar of soap and stared questionably round the bathroom door at Feliks, who was trying on a skirt he had made that day out of one of Ivan's old t-shirts. The blonde picked at the seams of his new design before turning to Matthew.

"It's like I said. Tomorrow after lunch, there's going to be this camp wide tournament thing and the winners get to like, win a buttload of pizza and fizzy drinks and chocolate and stuff."

"What kind of tournament?" he asked while turning off the tap and grabbing a towel to dry his hands. He winced slightly as the fabric chaffed his oozing sores. "Is it like an obstacle course, or…?"

Feliks blinked a few times and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I think they said something about a flag? I'm like, not that sure. All I know is they're going to split the camp into two teams and like, make us compete," he replied. He span around delicately, letting his skirt float around him. It was cut rather high, showing off the Polish boy's flawless skin and toned thighs. "You like?" he winked when he saw Matthew staring.

"Erm…Yes, it's very nice. Bit short though," he laughed awkwardly in reply. Feliks glanced down and examined the length before shrugging and tugging it down from his hips. 

"Whatever. I like it," he said, folding the skirt up neatly and slipping into a pair of pink shorts and a horse patterned top before shuffling under his duvet.

Matthew began to pull on his pyjamas and climb into bed. The heat meant he could only withstand a short sleeved top and a pair of boxers, but he didn't mind the exposure as long as he wasn't roasting in his sleep. He leant over and turned his bedside lamp off, turning the room pitch black. The sound of crickets and the rustling of the trees, and even the distant cry of a wolf, lulled him closer to sleep.

Matthew didn't manage to get even with Alfred. He was still angry, angry that Alfred broke his glasses, angry that he got Matthew banned from hockey, angry at his careless attitude and mocking laugh. He was certain that Alfred disliked him as much as he disliked Alfred. Their feud was still as prosperous as ever. Whatever this tournament was, he hoped desperately that they were on opposite teams. That way, he could beat the American once and for all.

"Just you wait, Kirkland. I'll get you back for sure this time."

 

*

 

A piece of paper was slipped under the door of every cabin the next morning. On it was written the information about the camp tournament. Those who wanted to take part must submit their cabin name to the camp leaders before midday. At two o'clock, an hour and a half after lunch began, all the cabins who wanted to participate were to gather themselves in the centre of camp where they would await further instructions. 

It didn't take long for Alfred to convince his fellow cabin mates that taking part was an extremely good idea, sending a reluctant Toris to put forward their names before the sun had fully risen. After all, chocolate was not allowed in camp, and all the boys quickly agreed that they would do anything for the smooth taste of that sweet, delicious treat.

They ate lunch as fast as they could, desperate to reach the centre of camp before anyone else did. Alfred was practically buzzing with anticipation, so much so that he nearly knocked over several campers as he bounded out of the food hall and through the maze of cabins like an overexcited puppy. 

"Nusiramink, Alfred," Toris scolded. "It's just a game. There's no need to be leaping about."

Alfred groaned loudly. "Dude, you don't understand! I've been wanting some candy ever since I got here. God, I need some in me right now."

Mathias slung an arm around Alfred's shoulders, grinning broadly. "What if it isn't even chocolate? What if we get something else?" he asked. Alfred answered with a frustrated drone.

"I don't care as long as it's sweet and packed full of sugar. All this healthy eating, rabbit food bullshit ain't good for strapping young men like me."

Mathias and Toris glanced at each other, unconvinced. Jan's brow bent in questioning.

"Sure."

"Whatever you say, Alfred."

"Keep thinking that."

Alfred was just about to argue back when they came across a growing pack of boys in the dusty clearing around the camp totem pole. Alfred frowned. Turns out they weren't the earliest of birds after all. They ran over to join them, instantly engaging in excited conversation about the task ahead. Those who had been to camp before were poked and prodded with wave after wave of questions and begged them for hints, but they refused to reveal any information. It just made the boys all the more eager for the tournament to start. Alfred thought he was going to burst when finally Tino and Vasch appeared from inside their cabin and walked towards the buzzing crowd.

"Greetings, campers! Welcome to W Camp's annual tournament. We're glad that so many of you want to take part in this event and hope you have the best fun possible," Tino addressed the crowd with a sweet smile. Vasch rolled his eyes slightly and bit the inside of his cheek. The boys gulped. After their week of turmoil, all the campers had grown to fear him, especially when he didn't look pleased. Tino continued, ignoring the campers' static expressions.

"Somewhere, hidden within the camp, is a flag. The aim of the game is to find the flag and attach it to one of these poles-" he gestured to two small, empty flag poles that stood nearby, "-and the team who does will be the winner."

The boys nodded their heads. It seemed simple enough. It was just like capture the flag, apart from there was only one flag instead of two. 

"The flag could be anywhere in camp, so you can search for it anywhere you like, as long as you stay within camp boundaries. Players have the ability to weaken the other team's force by tagging their enemy, done by pulling out the tag that will be tucked into their clothes. Those who have been tagged are officially out of the game and must come straight back to us," Tino added, pointing his finger in authority towards them. "Any questions?"

No one answered. They all desperately wanted to stop standing around and move onto the game. "Good. On to you Vasch!"

When Vasch stepped forward, the boys began to quiver in fear. After those terrible few days, they all cowered in his presence if ever they had the misfortune to be close. The man seemed to smirk at their apprehension towards him. 

"I have the list of cabins that will be playing for each team. Listen closely, because I will not be repeating them again," he barked, brandishing a sheet of paper tightly in a gloved hand. A few of the younger boys jumped at the sharpness of his voice.

"Eagle, Badger, Buffalo, Beaver, Hawk. Your tags are in there," Vasch gnarled, gesturing to a box on the floor on his right. It was overflowing with blue cloth. "You're the Blue team."

Alfred and the rest of his cabin mates leapt forward to delve into the box. Taking out a slip of blue fabric, he shoved it into the waistband of his shorts, letting it dangle by his thigh and drift lightly in the cool summer breeze. Looking at his team mates, Alfred started to feel pretty confident. Most of them were tall and slim with legs that went on forever, legs that looked like they were made especially for nimble sprinting. They shook hands and patted backs, all brewing with determination and fearlessness.

"Cabins Fox, Stag, Hare, Wolf and Bear. Your tags are in that box," he nodded to his left. "You are the Red team."

At the word 'bear', Alfred span around. It took him less than a second to spot the flowing locks of wheat coloured hair and bright violet eyes behind wire frames. Matthew was stood waiting patiently, biting his lip as the other boys dove through the box and fought over the strips of red fabric. He was calm, almost too calm for Alfred's liking. Alfred preferred it more when he was flushed red with anger and rage. Things were more interesting when that happened.

Their eyes met and a familiar sensation rushed through him. It only ever happened when he looked at Matthew. Why did Alfred feel like that? What was so special about Matthew? The boy was as plain and dull as a stale dry cracker, yet every time the American saw him he felt like he was being drawn to him and it frustrated him to the ends of the earth. Alfred felt his palms bead with sweat as purple pierced blue.

He felt a hand grip his shoulder and turned his head to see Sadiq smirking in Matthew's direction. "You guys never did get even, did you?" the Turkish boy said, the sun reflecting off the surface of his white sunglasses. Alfred's face curled into a sly smile.

"Not yet."

Vasch called across the stream of introductions. "You have five minutes to choose a team captain. Use your time wisely."

Alfred's team instantly leapt into hurried nattering, and half a minute later they had all decided on who should be their captain. Jan stood tall, hands on his hips, as the boys addressed him as such. Looking over, Alfred saw that the Red team had also chosen their captain in as little time as they did. When Matthew smiled broadly as Carlos scrubbed his head with a knuckle, Alfred could have collapsed with laughter. Bonnefoy? They chose Bonnefoy as captain?! Wow, this game would be over quicker than he thought.

The sharp pip of a whistle drew their attention. "Get to your positions boys!" Tino yelled. A field of red and blue formed as the campers scattered themselves across the clearing. Sweat dripping, heart pounding, they were ready for anything. Only the sound of the trees rustling could be heard.

"On your marks! Get set! GO!"

The bullet had barely shot out of Vasch's gun before every boy had vanished from sight, sprinting towards the forest like their lives depended on it. Alfred saw Matthew's puffed cheeks and stern face as he pelted through the grass and must, a cloud of dust blooming around his feet, and grinned. Boy, this was going to be good.

"Just you wait, Bonnefoy. I'll get you back for sure this time."


	6. Chapter 6

The plan was simple. Lure the enemy out, smoke them into a trap, search and destroy, eliminate every one until none of them could get in their way. If they succeeded, the flag, and the prize, would be theirs. There was no competition. The Reds didn't stand a chance. It would be over in minutes, and soon they would be dining happily on pizza and chocolate until the cows came home.

And it was working perfectly.

Alfred cackled in glee as another Red tripped and fell to the ground in a cloud of dust. A Blue quickly dived over and snatched the tag from the waistband of his shorts, waving it victoriously in the air. He was the seventh Red they had taken out in under five minutes, and while there were still twenty three left, Alfred believed that at the pace they were going the game would be over in no time. After all, the Reds hadn't taken out a single Blue yet! There were thirty of them still. Alfred leapt over a discarded log of wood, his eyes set on the crop of trees looming in the distance, aiming for victory.

"Don't let them get to the forest!" yelled Jan over the sprinting team. The time it took to get the tags from their opponents meant the rest of the Red Team had managed to get a little ahead of them. "If they get in there it'll be harder to find them!" 

Alfred gave a strong salute, boosting his speed and swerving to his right to swipe the tag from one of the slower, closer Reds. The boy fell to the ground in surprise and landed in a patch of yellow grass. Alfred flashed him a grin over his shoulder and carried on running towards the forest.

The forest itself was a large, towering mass of trees that curved around the entirety of camp, the camp having been built in the centre of it. It formed the structure of many activities, specifically the rope courses that had boys quaking at the knees as they swung with tattered rope onto unsteady nets and stepped cautiously from one block of wood to the other, hanging dangerously high above the ground and amongst the branches. Besides the fear involved, it was rather a popular recreational experience that many campers enjoyed.

However, this was only on the outskirts. Deeper inside, the forest was dark and cold and heavy, with dangerous animals rumoured to snatch people away if they got too close. A layer of mist drifted across the rotting leaves. The stories were nonsense of course, but no one went beyond the edge of the forest if they could help it.

Eerie, frightening, unexplored. It was the perfect location for a flag.

The majority of the Red Team were smaller and thinner than the Blue Team. The only anomalies were that of two of the boys in Matthew's cabin, the Russian boy, Ivan, and a stout boy with dark skin and dreadlocks that Alfred recognised as one of the people Jan crept off to smoke with in the middle of the day. Carlos, was it? Even Matthew was quite tall and stocky, not as much as the other two but still bigger than the rest of the team. It was probably from playing hockey, and his skills on the ice proved that he played quite often. Upon meeting for the first time, Alfred noted how they had a similar body shape as well as the same face, much to his annoyance. 

Oh well. Alfred was still better looking.

Apart from those three boys, the rest of the Red team were lithe, skinny, and light. Perfect for climbing and slipping away out the corners of eyes, unnoticed. If they were to lose them between the trees, it would take an awful long time to hunt them down again.

Mathias zoomed past Alfred and caught up with the next closest Red. He pulled the red tag free, nudging the boy in the back of the knee and sending him hurling into the dirt like a rag doll. He grinned mockingly before sprinting away, laughing wildly. Alfred couldn't help but join him, elated that his team were so close to victory.

His joy was cut short when a few members of the Red team suddenly lurched to the side and sprinted down the gap between two buildings. Jan barked out orders for several of his men to follow them, and they waved back in reply before chasing the stray pack in-between the brick walls. Jan stopped running, and Alfred slowed down to halt beside him, beads of sweat dripping down his face. "What's up?" he asked, confused at the sight of the anxious expression on Jan's usually blank face. 

"Something doesn't feel right," Jan mumbled. He was staring intently at the space where the campers had disappeared out of sight. "Why would they suddenly change course like that?"

His question was answered when the Reds came jogging out from the gap, smiles on their faces and bright blue tags flickering in their hands.

"Shit. It was a trap," Alfred growled. Jan sighed and scratched the back of his neck. They were down five men. It was twenty five Blue to twenty one Red. They were still ahead, but the threat of losing was greater. "We have to be more vigilant now," Jan said before turning around and sprinting towards the forest.

Despite the slight knock back, Alfred was still positive they would definitely win. They were a few players down, so what? It was obvious from the start that some of them were going to get tagged anyway. It just made the game more exciting. In Alfred's eyes, an easy win was no win at all. It would be like taking candy from a baby. You'd have the prize, but no satisfaction. The game was starting to heat up, and Alfred couldn't have been more happy at the challenge. He felt adrenaline rush through him like lightening and he darted after Jan, a laugh erupting from his lips.

He came to a stop at the edge of the forest. The remaining members of his team were there, hands on their knees, panting and wiping their faces. Heracles had taken his shirt off and was yawning as he braced himself against a tree, his muscles glistening with sweat. He had the most red tags in his hands out the whole group, which surprised Alfred. He didn't know the Greek could be so agile, seeing as he wasn't even conscious most of the time. Sadiq handed a water bottle to Alfred and he took it without hesitation, emptying the contents in a few large gulps. He didn't know water could taste so good.

"Update," Jan demanded. He really took to the role of captain, Alfred observed. Whether it was his stern face and imposing height, his aura of dominance or the fact he was pretty much unbeatable at Monopoly that made the other boys look up to and respect him without question, Alfred didn't know. But he seemed to be the only guy for the job, a suggestion that was unanimously agreed to in seconds when deciding who would be team captain.

"We lost the Reds in the forest," one of the boys reported. Another pointed at a small group of figures that were limping away into the distance, rubbing their sore behinds. "We managed to get a few before the rest escaped," he added through exhausted pants.

Jan nodded, rubbing his forehead. "What does that bring their numbers to?"

"Eighteen."

"And we have?"

"Twenty three. They got John and Sigurd before we took them out."

A sigh broke from Jan's mouth and he placed his hands on his knees. The boys stood watching him in silence. The sun shined off their skin and the trees rustled behind them. Alfred could hear birds singing in the wind.

"Okay," he spoke, his voice weirdly steady despite the great amount of running they had done. "Let's split up. Three fours and two fives. We can cover more ground that way." He stood up straight and pointed at Alfred, then Mathias, Sadiq and Toris. "You four, it's your job to locate that flag and ensure we win this game. The rest of us will hunt down the Reds and take them out before they take you guys out."

"Yes, captain!"

The Blue team sprang into action, diving into groups and creeping off into the wood in different directions. Alfred ambled over to his cabin mates, greeting them with a smile and a clap on the back. "Looks like we're on flag duty."

Mathias stretched his arms up, making the joints in his shoulders and back crack in relief. "Damn, I wanted to kick some more ass," he whined. 

Sadiq smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Hopefully we'll meet some along the way," he nodded to Mathias. "That dick from the Stag cabin elbowed me in the gut trying to get me. I'd like to teach that bastard a lesson."

Toris slapped him round the back of his head, making the boy gasp and scowl. "Stop fucking around. The longer we stand here, the better chance the other team has at getting the flag before we do," he urged, folding his arms across his chest in frustration. 

Alfred laughed and wrapped an arm around the younger boy's shoulders. "Coming out of your shell are we, Toris?" He'd never seen the Lithuanian so feisty.

Toris sighed and shrugged Alfred's arm off him. "I'm just worried about the prize, that's all. I was rather looking forward to having some chocolate, that's all," he grumbled, making Alfred laugh out loud again. 

"As are we all!" the American replied. "Come on, men! We can't let this damsel stay in distress." He winked at Toris before shoving him in the back and sending him stumbling into the thick forest with an angry yelp, the others chortling behind them. "We'll find that flag and be back in our beds before you can say 'God Bless America'!"

As it turns out, Alfred couldn't have been more wrong.

The forest was larger than Alfred had expected. The deeper into the wood they went, the thicker and more shrouded the trees became. They were boxed in overhead, barely any sunlight breaking through the solid ceiling of leaves and branches. The air felt heavy, like they were being pulled to the centre of the earth with every step. Alfred started to shiver. He hadn't realized how cold it had gotten.

"I think we're lost," mumbled Mathias. They had paused their search and were stood in a small circular clearing next to a particularly large and crippled tree. They passed around a single water bottle, each taking deep sips before handing it to the next person. 

Sadiq raised his eyebrows. "How can we be lost if we never had a destination to begin with?" he snapped. Mathias turned to scowl at him, his arms raised in mock defence.

"Excuse me, princess. No need to get all touchy."

"I'm not being touchy. I'm just stating the obvious. Something you're obviously too stupid to realise." 

Mathias snarled at him, taking a few steps forward. "Oh, I'm stupid? Have you looked in the mirror recently, dit svin?"

"Yeah, and what I see is me punching your lights out, orospu cocugu!"

They lurched towards each other, but Toris jumped between them with his hands pushing on their chests to keep them apart. "Stop! This is no time for fighting!" Alfred stood up, his body poised in case something went wrong and he had to stop Toris from getting his lights punched by mistake.

Sadiq gnarled and stormed away from Mathias, sending a kick towards a knotted tree root. "We're never going to find this fucking flag. We should never have agreed to do this stupid game in the first place," he said, running his hands through his thick hair in frustration. Alfred chuckled awkwardly.

"Hey, now. We can't give up already. We're so close, I can feel it-,"

"Sikikleri aşkına, shut up, Alfred! We've been walking in circles for ages! The other team has probably found the flag and won already. It's fucking hopeless and you know it!"

Mathias stepped forward and shoved Sadiq hard in the shoulder. "Don't talk to him like that!"

Sadiq pushed back harder, making the Dane stumble over the ground. "Don't fucking touch me!"

Soon fists were flying before Toris could intercept and calm the tension in the air. Alfred hadn't realised how stressed the group had gotten. There was something about that forest that made everyone so jumpy and nervous, so much so that they tore at each other when their anxiety reached its peak. Toris stood to the side of the brawling pair and yelled at them in rapid Lithuanian while dodging their poorly aimed punches and tumbling bodies. He was a second too slow and got hit violently in the thigh, and Alfred had just started to leap into the fight himself when he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, making him stop dead.

Something wasn't right. Not right at all.

"Guys…"

When they didn't stop, he rushed forward and dragged them apart, hurling them at opposite sides of the clearing. They yelled out as they landed on the ground with extreme force due to the strength of Alfred's throw. "Alfred, what the fuck was-"

"Shut up," Alfred snapped. Mathias' eyebrows twisted into a glare. He opened his mouth to argue back but the snap of a twig made him blanch. All the boys turned their heads slowly towards the source of the noise. There was nothing there.

"What's going on?" Toris whispered. He backed unsteadily into a tree, his eyes flitting in every direction like a startled rabbit. Mathias and Sadiq tentatively rose from their positions on the floor. 

"Alfred?" Mathias asked with a shaking voice.

"Something feels weird," Alfred said softly. It was too quiet. There were no singing birds, no light patters of paws across the ground, no crinkling leaves in the wind. It was as if the world had suddenly stopped. A chill went down his spine, and it wasn't because of the cold. He felt like they were being watched very, very closely. He span in circles, eyes scanning for signs of life that shouldn't be there. There was nothing. It was almost like something had scared everything away…

Out of the corner of his eye, a ray of light that had broken through some leaves disappeared. It took him a second to realize what was going on.

"LOOK OUT!" he screamed, just before the figures pounced down from where they were hiding in the trees. He dived out of the way to avoid being crushed by his attacker, falling harshly onto a crooked root that jutted from the earth. He heard a crack and felt a stabbing pain erupt from his waist like fire. Tears stung at his eyes and he rolled around in the dirt, clutching at the burn in his side. His attacker snarled menacingly, a sickening smile on his lips. Through his pained stupor, Alfred saw a frayed purple scarf around his neck and realized it was Ivan.

"You cannot get away, little American," the Russian spoke with sickly sweetness as he approached Alfred, who shuffled away on his back, wincing with every knock to his side. "Your friends have been apprehended. You surrender now too, yes?"

Alfred glanced over to where the ghostly figures of Mathias, Toris and Sadiq lay crumpled in the dirt. The beads of water in his eyes and the heavy darkness around him meant he could barely see anything at all, but he could make out the members of the Red team crouching over his cabin mates and ripping the blue tags aggressively from their sides. The sound of Toris' aching whimpers made anger boil up inside of him, and he turned to face Ivan with a brutal glare that made the Russian falter in his tracks.

"I'll never surrender to you, commie bastard!" he growled, and despite the protest of his waist, he leaned back on his empty hand and kicked Ivan as hard as he could right in the stomach.

As soon as Ivan gasped and doubled over in pain, Alfred scampered up from the floor and sprinted off deeper into the woods. His body burned and screeched in agony but he refused to stop until he knew he was out of danger. He could hear the heavy thumps of feet chasing after him and knew he had to get out of there or else he was doomed. Ivan was a scary guy. It made Alfred shiver to think what he would do to him if he got caught.

The pain in his side soon faded from unbearable to a throbbing ache that irritated him more than hurt him. It stung every time he breathed in and out, allowing him to only take short, shallow breaths in order to take air into his lungs as comfortably as he could. The flaw with this was that he was running out of energy very quickly. It wasn't long before his vision started to blur slightly and he had to stop running for fear that he would pass out.

He leant against a tree and squeezed his eyes tight, trying with all his might to ignore the dull pulsating sensation that spread across his abdomen. Lifting his shirt, he could see the signs of a bruise etching its way from his ribs to his hips. Soon it would be as big and purple as a sky before a storm. Fuck, Alfred's dad was going to kill him.

The thunder of feet grew steadily louder and Alfred saw the pack of Blues grind to a halt in front of him, Ivan leading the way. Alfred knew it was all over. He smiled slightly. At least he would go out in style. A battle wound was always a cool thing to show off when the time demanded it. The Russian grinned in pleasure at the sight of the injured Alfred bracing himself on the tree, in need of support. "Silly American. You thought you could get away?"

Alfred refused to answer, despite how much he wanted to. He wouldn't let Ivan have any satisfaction in taking him down. The Russian quickly caught on to the reason for Alfred's silence, chuckling as if he had just heard a funny joke. "Not saying anything, I see. Trying to keep your pride? Well," he beamed sickeningly, "I can always make you speak."

The other campers hesitated and glanced at Ivan with a mixture of both confusion and fright. "Ivan? He doesn't look so good."

"Yeah, I think he's hurt badly."

"Shouldn't we go and get help-"

Ivan spoke, hushing their concerns. "Do not leave until I have finished with the silly boy." The boys nodded hurriedly and turned away from the unfolding scene. Cowards, Alfred wanted to yell, and he almost did. That was until Ivan came so close to him that he could feel the boy's cold breath on his face.

"That kick was quite hard. It hurt a lot. That wasn't very kind of you," he said as soft as if he were speaking to a child. Alfred felt his stomach curl. Ivan's arms were either side of his head and he towered over him, trapping him completely against the tree. There was no way out.

"I am thinking I will have to teach you a lesson on manners." Ivan smiled with eerie sweetness. He raised a clenched fist. Alfred relaxed his body in surrender. This was it. It was all over now.

"If you have any brains in that big head of yours, I would step away from the American if I were you."

Alfred twisted his head to the side at the sound of the familiar voice. Surrounding them in a massive circle at the edge of the clearing were the rest of the Blue team, led by Jan, who was stood behind Ivan with an unwavering smirk of triumph etched upon his lips. Alfred could barely contain the joy that rushed through him.

Ivan sighed. "You win this time, Alfred," he said before moving away and standing with his arms raised in defeat. Jan nodded and several Reds stumbled forward, snatching the tags from the Reds' waistbands. Alfred let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

The tag-less Reds faded into the thickness of trees and Jan pulled Alfred up from where he had slipped down the tree. "You alright?" he asked. It was strange to hear drops of concern in his usually monotone voice. Alfred nodded, sipping air through clenched teeth. The pain in his side seemed to have doubled since Ivan had him trapped. It was too much for him to handle now.

But he wouldn't let the others see him so weak. He flashed a grin. "Never been better," he chirped back.

Jan wasn't fooled. "It's so obvious that you're hurt, you could see it from Mars," he said, his eyebrows raised. "Go back to camp. Get yourself some medical attention before that gets worse."

Alfred began to groan. "Dude, come on! I'm fine, look-"

"Alfred. I am your captain. This is an order."

He knew he couldn't sway Jan's commands. He didn't have much energy to try to anyway. Sending his captain a half-hearted glare, he nodded his head and stumbled off into the forest in the direction he thought camp would be. Hearing footsteps behind him, he twisted around to see an unfamiliar Blue following him cautiously. "And who might you be?" Alfred asked, hissing slightly as his injury throbbed.

"Jan told me to make sure you get back to camp and don't do anything stupid," the Blue replied with a squeaky voice. He was a short, scrawny little thing, with limps limbs like fish bones and skin paler than milk. Jan probably sent him to care for Alfred because the boy looked as useless as a chocolate fire guard covered in petrol. If he wasn't in such great pain, Alfred would have laughed in his face. 

"What's the name?" he asked.

"Samuel," the boy stuttered back. Alfred flicked out a hand for him to shake and he took it between thin, bony fingers. "Well, Sam- is it okay that I call you Sam? - you better start getting comfy. You're goin' to be with me for a long time."

They limped and stumbled their way through the maze of trees and crooked roots, occasionally stopping so Alfred could get his breath back. The pain wasn't even that bad any more, having dulled down to a heavy pulsating feeling by his ribs. Alfred just liked seeing his companion flutter around in panic like a frightened moth. It was some of the best entertainment one could get in that God forsaken forest.

They had walked for what seemed like forever. The atmosphere remained thick and muggy and camp seemed to be getting further away the more steps they took. Alfred was beginning to wonder if they would ever get out. Maybe he could start his own little woodland village. Build huts and bridges high up in the trees, hunt deer and rabbits for food. Just him and his beanpole of an aide. It seemed like the only realistic option they had, having been stuck in the forest for so long. He truly felt like they would never see daylight again.

That was until the two boys staggered into a large patch between the trees that was brightly lit by a halo of sun. A rushing stream raced down the middle, curving around the base of one of the largest trees Alfred had ever seen. It sat poised and proud, a wooden mountain that seemed to glow in the sunlight.

Although it wasn't the sun that made it shine so brightly. A square of cloth the length of his arm waved gracefully in the breeze from where it hung from one of the branches.

"The flag!" Sam shouted. No one moved for a second. Alfred took a step towards the tree but faltered when his side stabbed with pain. Sam rushed forwards on twiggy legs, jumping and scratching for the flag with lanky fingers. He was too short to reach it.

Alfred rolled his eyes and hobbled up to where the boy was waving his arms around, looking like a fool. They didn't have any time to waste. If someone from the Red team found them, they could get the flag in seconds, what with Alfred being injured and his only hope for success being a walking stick of wheat. With all that he had gone through to find this piece of fabric, losing wasn't an option.

"Stand back. Let me try," he demanded. Sam stopped leaping about and turned to face him, worry spread across his face. 

"B-but, Alfred, you're hurt-"

"Please, kid. If you know what's good for you, you'll get out of my fucking way."

Sam slipped to the side, giving Alfred full access to the tree. Ignoring the protests from his side, he braced a foot on the trunk and gripped a branch above him with both hands, hoisting himself up and into the mass of leaves. His wound burned and fizzled and cracked and Alfred felt his eyes stinging again but all he wanted to do was get that flag and get out of that damned forest before he went insane. He held onto the branch and reached up, feeling the fabric graze his fingers.

"I got it, Sam!" he yelled triumphantly as he tugged the flag off of the branch. He laughed a brilliant, booming whoop of pure joy, the leaves brushing his cheeks and tickling his face.

He had done it! He had got the flag! Victory was theirs!

A pair of hands grabbed his ankle and yanked him hard. Alfred fell from the tree and landed on the ground with a dull thump. He let out a blood curdling scream as his waist hit the dirt. White spots clouded his vision. He thought he was going to pass out.

He managed to turn around on his back, craning his neck as far as it would go to see Samuel sat in a heap next to the stream rubbing his head, his tag missing. Looking down, he saw his own had gone too.

When he glanced up again, he saw a figure running away into the darkness of the trees, two blue tags in his left hand and the flag in his right. At the sight of his long, flowing locks of blonde hair, Alfred knew instantly who it was. A red hot flame of pure rage boiled up inside of him.

"Matthew."

 

*

 

Matthew couldn't believe his luck. Everything had worked out perfectly. He knew the Blue team would rush into the game with the attempt to wipe every one of Matthew's team out. He knew that their egos would quadruple if they snagged the most tags and had the most players. He knew that their winning streak would make them careless. And now Matthew was sprinting as fast as he could towards camp and towards success with the flag wrapped tightly around his arm. Everything had gone according to plan.

As the trees began to thin out and the camp cabins and facilities came into view, Matthew could not contain his excitement. He skipped and giggled as he ran in, out and around the buildings, relishing in the joy of finally being able to get back at Alfred for all he had done to him in the past few weeks. The look on his face when Matthew grabbed the flag was priceless. It made his heart bubble in happiness.

He gained speed when he saw the group of campers sat around the totem pole. "Hey! Over here!" he shouted, holding the flag above his head and letting it flicker in the wind. After a few moments they all noticed him, the members of the Red team jumping up and cheering like their lives depended on it and the Blue team thrusting their arms into the sky in frustration that they had been defeated. Tino was hopping up and down, his whistle pressed between his lips, ready to signal that the game was over and the Red team had won. Vasch simply held his ground, a proud smile on his face. The anticipation spurred Matthew on. He didn't know he could run so fast.

Suddenly, the group stopped cheering. Instead they looked confused, frightened. Their faces made Matthew slow down slightly. What was going on? Was there a problem? Before he could turn around to find out, his face was in the ground and he was skidding across the dirt for what seemed like miles.

He landed on his stomach. His shirt felt hot and wet. Pushing himself up, he looked down to see his chest and stomach covered in long, bloody scratches that had stained his shirt in bright red streaks. "What on earth...?" he choked out before he was spun around and a fist collided with his face.

A crack shattered the air. Matthew's nose burst with searing hot pain and he let out a shriek before he was dropped into the dirt. He squinted through tearing eyes to see a boy crouched above him. It took him a second to realize it was Alfred. And he did not look happy.

"What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!" the American spat. His expression was one of pure fury. When Matthew could do nothing but hiss back through the mass of blood that had poured from his nose and into his mouth, Alfred leaned down and grabbed him by the shirt, shaking him violently. "You fucking cheat! Who attacks an injured guy like that and leaves him in the dirt? You bastard!"

Injured? Alfred was injured? Matthew didn't know that. He was climbing a tree! People who are hurt don't put strain on their bodies like that. It was common sense. Alfred must have been more stupid than he looked.

"I didn't know you were hurt!" Matthew spluttered out. The blood on his tongue was making it difficult for him to talk. He felt like he was going to vomit. 

Alfred growled at him viciously. "You liar! You fucking liar!" The American lifted a clenched hand. Matthew squeezed his eyes shut and hid his head in his arms.

The fist never came. Instead, Alfred dropped Matthew to the ground. Opening his eyes, he saw Vasch stood above both of them, the flesh of Alfred's arm bulging between tightly held fingers.

"That's enough for one day, don't you think, boys?"

Matthew didn't know what frightened him most. The unadulterated look of hatred on Alfred's face, or the terrifying mix of pure joy on Vasch's own.

 

*

 

The camp leaders' cabin was drowned in silence. Alfred and Matthew were sat as far away from each other as was possible in such a tiny office, glaring aggressively at each other if their gazes happened to meet. Both Alfred and Matthew had a bag of frozen peas pressed to some part of their body; Alfred was sat shirtless in his chair with the bag on his broken rib, using a random tie wrapped around his body to keep it in place; Matthew was holding his bag of peas to his nose, his glasses left crumpled on a nearby desk. Neither boy spoke as Tino and Vasch inspected them with scrutinizing glances.

"According to our reports, this is not the first time you two have been caught fighting," said Tino. His voice was colder and sharper than either boy was used to. Matthew shot Alfred a dirty look.

"He started it."

"Go fuck yourself," Alfred spat. He leant over and nudged Matthew in the rib with his elbow, making the Canadian cry out in pain. Before he could retaliate, Vasch slammed a pistol on his desk, the barrel pointing straight at the two boys, silencing them.

"We do not tolerate fighting in this camp. Of any kind," the Swiss man purred. He seemed to find the whole experience very enjoyable. 

Alfred leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. "What you going to do? Kick us out?" he growled. His response only made Vasch chuckle.

"No. As much as I would love to send you two away with your tails between your legs, we're going to take a different approach."

Tino took a step towards them, his arms crossed. "It's obvious that taking privileges away from you won't work."

"So we have decided on an option that we feel is best suited to both you and the rest of us here at camp."

Matthew pulled the frozen peas off of his face to speak. "What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice quaking slightly. Tino and Vasch glanced at each other before addressing the boys. What they said next made a sick feeling bloom inside Alfred and Matthew's stomachs.

"From now on, you are going to do everything together. Eat, sleep, breathe, everything."

"Pack your bags, boys. You two are going to the isolation cabin."

From that moment on, both Alfred and Matthew knew they were doomed.


	7. Chapter 7

It was raining.

Not a light, pathetic rain, nor a sudden burst of medium showers that faded momentary into sunlight. It was raining. Really raining, and had been doing so for several hours. Droplets of water plunged from the sky like silver bullets; the whole Pacific, it seemed, was plummeting from the heavens. A muffled, monotonous rumble, like heavy white noise, knocked life from the air with a violent punch. 

With the rain came wind so strong that it was a wonder the cabins remained standing. You could barely go outside without having to grab hold of the nearest object, be it person or building, to stop yourself from being blown away. It was when a falling tree nearly crushed a small group of campers to death that the camp leaders decided it would be a good idea to cancel all activities and make the children stay inside the safety of their cabins until the storm subsided.

This was all well and good, if Matthew didn't have to share his cabin with the loudest, most insufferable person he had ever had the misfortune to meet.

After their meeting with Tino and Vasch, they were marched down to the isolation cabin as if they were being taken to the gallows. As per usual, the rest of camp found out about their punishment in a matter of minutes, and formed a crowd a few paces behind them for the duration of the boys' long journey to their new home. It was a bitter send off, Matthew felt. They seemed to find the whole situation rather amusing.

The cabin was just beyond the outskirts of the forest. A dirty, winding concrete footpath shadowed by spindly trees and overgrown bushes acted as a lengthy driveway; it twisted and turned and stretched on for what felt like ages, supplemented by the fact that neither Matthew nor Alfred had any help carrying their bags. The only thing that Matthew found the slightest bit enjoyable about the long walk was seeing Alfred struggle to hold all his luggage without putting pressure on his broken ribs. It was cruel and childish of him, but found that the stinging feeling in his nose was a decent enough excuse to think that way.

It was obvious that the cabin hadn't been used for a long time. It was crooked and splintered, and a thick layer of dead leaves, moss and bird droppings formed a gross coat on every surface. A staggered, wooden staircase led up to the door, the cabin itself being placed high up on a hill at the end of the path. And there they were left to their own devices, with instructions to try not to kill each other before the sun rose the next day.

Matthew glared bitterly over the top of his book as Alfred blasted out another verse of some awful 90s pop song while he was in the shower. He had been singing, if you could really call it that, for what seemed like forever, and Matthew was worried that they would run out of hot water before Alfred even thought about leaving the bathroom. He tried to focus on the words in front of him, but to no avail. How could he concentrate when all he could hear was the sound of a strangled cat being slowly choked to death? Very, very slowly.

The two boys had wordlessly come up with a system in order to survive their time in the cabin for the rest of camp. It was simple, they just ignored each other. Matthew had the right side of the room and Alfred had the left. They kept to their own space and didn't talk or even look at each other unless they had to. It helped them cope for those first few days. It also made the atmosphere very tense and difficult to live in, but it was better than them attacking each other every time they were in the same room.

Part of Alfred and Matthew's punishment was that they had to do everything together. It was one of the rules that went with being put in isolation. They had to live together, eat together, do the same activities. It made their time at camp unbearable. After the second day, they stopped turning up all together, apart from for meals and the occasional task they were interested in. Matthew would more often than not stay in the cabin and read, sometimes being visited by Carlos, Ivan and Feliks when they had the time spare, and Alfred would sneak off with his friends to a hidden clearing nearby in the forest where they would spend the day chatting or messing about in the trees. It made the leaders worried that Alfred and Matthew were refusing to interact with each other, but if they weren't fighting or causing trouble than there wasn't much they could do.

The steam from the shower drifted through the cabin. It made the room unbearably hot and with all the windows and the main door shut because of the storm, Matthew began to feel sweat beading on his forehead. He took off his jumper and loosened the collar on his shirt but still the room remained heavy with damp, muggy heat. “Do you think you could open a window in there?” he called to Alfred, frowning when the boy ignored him and started to sing louder.

He was about to give in and open a window himself when he heard a creaking sound coming from the roof. Looking up, he saw fat droplets squeeze through a tiny hole in the ceiling and fall to the ground. They landed right next to Alfred's bed, spitting water all over the American's clothes and belongings. A smirk broke out on Matthew's face. It shocked him how much pleasure he could get from watching someone else's possessions get wrecked and doing nothing about it. 'That'll teach him not to spend so long wasting valuable resources' he snickered to himself.

That was when he spied Alfred's phone charging on the floor. The spray from the leaking roof was getting steadily close to where the device was plugged into the wall. As much as Matthew loved seeing Alfred's clothes get darker with every bit of water they soaked up, he did not want to deal with a raging American with barely any self-control if his phone got fried. And besides, if it got to the plug socket, the whole building could be without power for God knows how long. Reluctantly, Matthew closed his book and got up from his bed to clear away the mess and save the device from drowning.

He shoved Alfred's clothes onto his bed and unplugged the charger from the wall, putting it next to the other belongings. He picked up the phone from the floor and rubbed it on his shirt to dry the screen from where it had gotten wet from the leak. The screen lit up as his finger brushed a button on the side, and despite his subconscious telling him not to, Matthew found himself looking at it closely. On the screen was a picture of Alfred and another person laughing before a sun set. They seemed to be on a boat, the flag on the mast flickering in the wind behind them. Alfred was laughing, his face folded with joy and happiness. The face of the other person was blocked out by the golden rays of the sun. All Matthew could make out was a pair of eyes. They were the brightest green he had ever seen.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Matthew looked up suddenly to see Alfred stood in the doorway of the bathroom. His body was dripping water onto the floor and he had a towel wrapped around his waist. He marched up to Matthew and snatched the phone from his hands.

"I'm sorry. The roof was leaking-" 

He was interrupted when Alfred shoved him away from his side of the room. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to mind your own business?" he spat viciously. Matthew glared at him.

"I was just trying to stop it from getting wet! God, you don't have to be so angry all the time."

"I wouldn't be so angry if some people didn't give me a reason to!"

"Fine. Your stupid phone can get all soaked for all I care!" Matthew snapped. He marched over to his bed and plopped himself down. He folded his arms and glared at Alfred before turning to look out the window. "And besides, I don't have a mother," he added. He wasn't sure why he said that, it just seemed to slip out in his fit of frustration.

Alfred was inspecting his phone when he lifted his head. "What was that?" He sounded quite angry, and Matthew turned to find Alfred glaring at him.

"What?"

"If you were trying to use what you said as a witty comeback, it wasn't a very good one. That's not a funny thing to joke about."

Confused, Matthew's eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry, what are you on about?"

"You. Being a dick. About your mom."

"I'm not being a dick. I'm telling the truth, I don't have a mother."

The sincerity of Matthew's voice made Alfred realise that he was being serious. The amount of guilt that washed over him made him feel slightly sick. "Oh. Look, dude, I'm sorry-"

"It's okay. You couldn't have known."

The cabin was drowned in silence, only this time, Alfred was not content with the lack of noise. He picked his crumpled clothes up from his bed and began to pull them on, glancing at Matthew every now and then to see what he was doing. He expected Matthew to look upset or hurt at the subject of his mother, but instead he seemed almost bored as he stared at the raindrops racing down the window. Alfred was curious. He paused the act of putting on his shirt and spoke.

"What happened?" he asked. Matthew turned his head and looked at him in annoyance.

"What?"

"You said you didn't have a mom any more. I was just wondering how…you know…" he mumbled. Maybe he had crossed the line. It wouldn't have been the first time, but never before had he done on such a serious topic.

Matthew suddenly clocked on to what Alfred meant. "What? Y-you're asking me how my mom died?"

"Erm…yeah? Sorry, I was just trying to-"

"I've never had a mom. A real mom, I mean. I'm adopted."

"Oh." Alfred wasn't expecting that. His eyes widened in surprise and he put on his shirt before sitting down on his bed. The room was filled with silence again.

"You think I'm messed up, don't you?"

Alfred pulled a towel from his bag. He glanced at Matthew, who was staring out of the window again and tracing the streams of water with his finger. "Why would I think that?"

"Most people do when they hear the word 'adopted'. They pity us, like it's a bad thing. They act like we're broken and need fixing because our birth parents gave us away. That's the impression I get anyway."

"I don't think it's a bad thing."

Matthew smiled slightly. "I was adopted when I was a baby so I never knew my birth parents. I couldn't imagine being raised by anyone but Papa. I don't think I'd want to find my other parents at all. I'm happy with the way things are," he said, picking at the edges of his jeans. "Sorry. You probably didn't want to hear all that. It just slipped out."

Alfred rubbed his head with the towel. "Funny. Never really thought about it like that."

Matthew titled his head at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I love my dad and all and I can't even begin to think what my life would be like without him. But…I guess I want to find out who I actually am, whose blood I actually come from. I want to know why they left me. I don't know, it's all kinda complicated."

Matthew blinked a few times and leant forwards. "Wait. Y-you're adopted too?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. So I get where you're coming from with the whole fixing thing," Alfred nodded. Matthew leant back, his eyes wide.

"Oh. What a coincidence."

Alfred chuckled lightly. "I know, right?"

The atmosphere seemed strangely calm as opposed to the boys' usual bitterness. It was a strange feeling that neither of them were used to. Every time they opened their mouths, it was only ever to criticize or badger the other. It was then that Matthew realised they had never had a proper conversation before.

"How long have you known?" he asked. Alfred was shaking his head in the towel when he glanced at him through dripping locks.

"That I'm adopted?"

"Yes. If you don't mind me asking."

Alfred shrugged. "It's cool. I've known for like, four years now. My dad and I had an argument over something dumb and he took my phone away. When I went into his room to get it back, I found all the forms in a box under his bed.”

“Oh. Okay.” Matthew shuffled awkwardly in his space on the bed. He didn't know how to react to Alfred's extremely open response.

“How long have you known for?"

He wrung his hands in his lap before answering. "Since before I can remember. Papa says it's not something I should have to hide away or be ashamed of. He says that I was an angel that came to save him just when he had lost hope of ever having a family.” He saw Alfred's lips curl out of the corner of his eye and shrugged in uneasiness. “I know, it's super embarrassing."

"Nah, man. It's actually kinda sweet. My dad wouldn't be caught dead saying corny shit like that."

The room went quiet again, a more comfortable silence than before. Matthew fondled the edge of his shirt between his fingers. "What's your dad like?" he asked. Alfred broke into a small grin at his question.

"Kinda short, blonde. Massive eyebrows. Like, huge. I swear they take up 90% of his face. He's also angry at something most of the time. Just your typical Englishman. What's your dad like?"

"He's French so, the opposite of your dad. He's very flamboyant and charming and flirts with pretty much everyone he meets," Matthew replied. He faltered before continuing. "Well, that's what he was like when I was a kid. I don't get to see him much now, cause of work."

"What does he do?" asked Alfred. He was perched on the side of the bed, his elbows on his knees, leaning in towards Matthew. He looked genuinely interested in what Matthew was saying, to the Canadian's surprise.

"He's a chef. He owns a large string of restaurants across Europe, and some in the States, I think."

Alfred grinned. "Aw, neat. What's the name?"

"Le Lys Blanc."

"No way! Your dad owns Le Lys Blanc?" he said, eagerly leaning towards Matthew in amazement. "Dude, you must be rich as balls!"

"Not exactly."

"Nah, man, all of your clothes are designer. You're rich as hell. I've been to the one of those places in New York, and holy shit, it's like a fucking castle in there!"

Matthew found himself bending towards Alfred. He shuffled on his bed to get in a more comfortable position to face him. "You've been to Papa's restaurant?"

"Yeah, like a few years ago. There was a party there to celebrate the release of my dad's new book and I tagged along. The food was pretty awesome."

Now Matthew was more than intrigued. "Your father's an author?"

"Yeah. He writes like, crime novels or something. They're pretty big in the States. I think the most recent one was called…I don't know, something about a bird and people drowning and shit," Alfred said, scratching his chin in thought.

At his words, Matthew felt his heart skip a beat. No way… it couldn't be? He jumped up so fast that Alfred nearly fell off his bed. The Canadian knelt down to pull his suitcase from under bed, rummaging around in the contents before surfacing with a purple, hardback novel in his hands. His eyes were wide with astonishment. "Raven in the Lake!" His voice came out with a squeak. Alfred nodded, pointing at the book.

"Yeah, that's it."

Matthew's heart could have stopped right then. His mouth dropped open and his knuckles turned almost pure white as he gripped tighter onto the book. "Your dad wrote Raven in the Lake? Your father is Kit Bryce?!”

Alfred was astonished at Matthew's sudden change of attitude. He nodded, trying his hardest not to laugh at Matthew's outburst of excitement. "Yep. Apart from Kit Bryce isn't his actual name. His real name is Arthur Kirkland. But don't tell anyone! He would kill me if people found out."

Matthew couldn't believe what he was hearing. Kit Bryce, his all-time favourite author, was actually the dad of his rival, the boy sat right in front of him with an amiable grin on his face stretching from ear to ear. He flopped down on his bed, a hand over his heart. "Mon Dieu…I can't believe Kit Bryce's son punched me in the face."

Alfred almost frowned at his comment. If it wasn't for Matthew's frankly quite hilarious reaction to the news of his father's identity, he was sure he would have done. "You're really choked up on this, huh?"

"Of course! He's my favourite author. His Brighton and Fletcher series is amazing. They've been New York Best-sellers for years," he said, staring with wonder at the book in his hands. Alfred glanced at it before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Are they really that good?"

Matthew blinked at him. "What, haven't you read them?" Alfred shook his head.

"They always looked kinda wordy to me. I don't know, they're not really my kind of books," he mumbled, a little embarrassed. Matthew smiled understandably.

"Fair enough. If you ever want to try them out, I can lend you one, if you want."

"Sure. And I can try and get you a copy of his new one when it comes out."

Matthew beamed. "Thank you. That's very kind of you."

"You're welcome."

The distant squawk of a trumpet made both boys jump slightly. Matthew looked out of the window, he didn't realise it had gotten dark so quickly. "I guess it's time for bed," he said. Alfred nodded in agreement. They got into their pyjamas in silence before slipping into their beds. Alfred, who was closer to the light switch, turned off the lights, bathing the room in darkness. Matthew had just started to drift off into sleep when he heard Alfred speak to him.

"G'night."

"Good night," Matthew replied, smiling into his pillow.

Maybe this arrangement wouldn't be so bad after all.


	8. Chapter 8

"What's the matter, Matthew?"

Matthew looked up from where he was stacking pebbles into a tower and turned to face Ivan. The Russian's cheeks and nose were flushed pink from where his pale skin had caught the sun. Matthew blinked a little before smiling back a reply. 

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

Matthew nodded but said no more, allowing Ivan to reluctantly stand up, having crouched down beside the brooding Canadian to see if he was okay, and walk back down the pier and across the dirt and rocks to join Carlos where he was stood at the edge of the water, skipping stones and punching the air every time it went a skip further than before. Feliks was sat on an upside-down boat, adjusting the bow in his hair to stop the odd lock of blonde from falling out and blocking the view through his sunglasses. Both he and Carlos had taken off their shirts, letting the sun kiss their skin as they relaxed by the lake that day.

Matthew only wished he was having as much fun as his friends.

His conversation with Alfred a few days previous kept replaying in his head, over and over again. They hadn't spoken properly since that night, only ever exchanging a few words whenever they bumped into each other and the occasional nod of acknowledgement if they saw each other during camp time. Alfred and his friends rarely showed up for dinner, choosing to snack on crisps and chocolate and other such foods that they somehow managed to obtain at their new hang-out in the forest, leaving Matthew by himself on his and Alfred's shared isolation table for almost every meal. Their conversation about their father's and how they were adopted was so peculiar and out of the blue that Matthew couldn't help but feel irked at how Alfred pretty much acted like it never happened.

But why did he care? He didn't, obviously. It was just annoying, that's all.

The boys cheered as the pebble Carlos had thrown skipped four times across the surface of the lake before disappearing into the water with a plop. The sweat on Matthew's back made his shirt stick uncomfortably to his skin. Being careful not to knock his nose, which was still sore and bruised around the place it had broken, he pulled the clothing over his head and used it to wipe his forehead, shivering as the sun radiated down on his bare back and chest. Despite the fact it was past midday and the sun had just started to set, it was still unbelievably hot that day. Matthew ignored how Feliks peered at him over the rim of his sunglasses and watched Ivan and Carlos try to out skip each other in their pebble throwing shenanigans.

"Beat that," Carlos smirked as his pebble plunged in the water after the fifth skip. Ivan smiled politely to him and waved at Matthew to throw him a pebble. Matthew did so and Ivan caught it in one hand before spinning around and flicking his wrist to throw the pebble, watching in delight as it skimmed the surface of the lake and hopped six times before landing in the water. Matthew couldn't help but giggle at Carlos' furious expression.

"I am thinking that I have, my friend," the Russian chirped sweetly.

They continued their antics, Carlos getting more and more frustrated every time Ivan beat him. Minutes passed and Matthew was starting to get a headache. He was sat alone on the pier several metres away, just watching and humming quietly to himself as the seconds ticked on. Along with the headache, he was beginning to feel undoubtedly bored. He wasn't doing anything interesting. There was really no point him being there. He decided that he could be doing something more productive than sitting by himself and doing nothing.

He slipped his shirt back on and pulled on the socks and sneakers he had discarded beside him when they got to the lake. Ruffling his hair, he stood up and began walking down the pier, set on getting back to his cabin and doing something worthwhile. He had almost walked the length of the pier before the others noticed he had moved.

"Where are you going?" Matthew heard Carlos yell behind him. He didn't want to answer back, but he knew that he had to or else he would be bombarded with questions for the rest of the week. While walking, he looked over his shoulder and saw the three boys staring at him. Matthew waved, hoping that they would take it as a signal to stop talking to him.

"I'm just going back to the cabin. I don't feel so good. I'll see you at dinner," he called back. Feliks stood up from his position on the boat.

"Won't the Amerikanin be there?" he asked, swishing his blonde hair over his shoulder with the flick of his hand. 

Matthew shrugged. "I don't know," he replied before turning back around and jogging down the rest of the pier, up the small hill and onto the concrete path, making his way leisurely to the cabin.

He found his lips bending into a small smile with the thought of Feliks' question. Would Alfred be there? Strangely, Matthew did not feel annoyance or dread at the prospect of bumping into his new cabin mate like would have done a few days ago. He didn't know what he felt. He ignored the tiny part of him that whispered that he was looking forward to it. Maybe they could talk again. Matthew shook his head.

Alfred was loud and arrogant and selfish. He used up all the hot water with his stupidly long showers and snored at the same volume a lion roared, often keeping Matthew awake until ridiculous hours of the morning. He was the messiest person Matthew had ever met. Matthew did not want to speak to him again. Right?

Alfred was at the cabin, Matthew soon discovered when he finally reached it after the casual walk. He was sat on one of the top steps, picking at his shoelaces while nattering on his phone in what sounded like a rather frustrating conversation with the person on the other end. Matthew caught a glimpse of it as he passed, Alfred shuffling out of the way to allow Matthew easy access to the next step.

"Yes, Dad. I know, Dad. No, I am not spending all my time playing video games. I don't understand why you don't believe me! That was ages ago, I'm not a kid any more…Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

They exchanged awkward smiles before Matthew trudged up the rest of the steps and into the cabin, kicking off his sneakers and placing them neatly by the door. Alfred's boots were scattered on the floor at the other end of the room, making Matthew's eyebrows furrow. He walked over and picked them up, putting them next to his own in as equal a tidy state. Pleased with how they looked, he shuffled across the room and flopped down onto his bed, pulling out a book and settling in a comfortable position before carrying on from where the page was bookmarked.

At least he tried to. Alfred's voice doubled in volume as their argument got more heated. It proved very distracting for Matthew, who had read the same line in his book three times due to his train of thought being interrupted by Alfred's squawks of protest to whatever the other half of the conversation was saying. It was when he read the line a further seven times that he started to feel extremely annoyed. It was obvious that their quarrel wasn't going to end any time soon, and if it didn't, Matthew was sure he would never be able to start reading again. He put his book gently down beside him and cleared his throat before yelling boorishly to the ceiling in as rough an accent he could muster.

"Oi, Alfred. We're just about to play some basketball and need a guy to fill in. You wanna come?"

He heard Alfred pause halfway through replying to his dad. There were a few beats of silence before he spoke again.

"Listen, Dad, I gotta go help these guys out, okay? Yeah, I know, I understand. Get some sleep. Love you too. Talk to you later. Bye."

Matthew closed his eyes and sighed in relief when he heard the beep of the phone hanging up, followed by footsteps as Alfred pushed open the door and walked into the cabin. He dropped his phone onto his bed before doing the same himself, landing on his back and stretching his legs towards the ceiling. Matthew returned to reading his book, finally moving on from the one line he was stuck on. The cabin was quiet before Alfred turned his head to address the Canadian.

"Thanks for that, by the way." 

Matthew drew his eyes away from his book to glance at him. "You're welcome," he mumbled back before looking back to his page. The room went quiet again. Matthew stared at the words in front of him, taking none of it in. He thought the lack of noise would help him concentrate. In reality it just made the atmosphere more awkward than relaxed.

Alfred received phone calls from his dad often. From what Matthew overheard, they were more often than not a way of checking up on his son and making sure he wasn't doing anything stupid. Their talks mostly consisted of fighting and hurling the occasional insult at each other between random comments of affection and sentiment. Despite their apparent disapproval of each other's antics, it seemed that Alfred genuinely missed his father. Matthew sometimes caught him glancing expectantly towards his phone, and Alfred's eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning whenever his dad's name flashed upon the screen. Matthew found it rather sweet.

It reminded him of his own family. Antonio's bright, friendly smile, Gilbert's obnoxious laughter, the warmth of his Papa's arms when they pulled him into a tight hug. He always smelled of lavender, icing sugar and fresh pastries. Matthew could smell it now from where he was sat just over four-thousand miles away. He really did long to see them again. 

He gave up on reading his book after a few minutes of just staring at the page. He sighed in defeat and shoved his bookmark in between the pages before closing the book and placing it on the floor next to his bed. A hollow feeling swelled in his stomach.

Reaching under his bed, he pulled out his suitcase and rummaged around in the contents before brushing over his camera. He hadn't used it since he was sent to the isolation cabin. He didn't see a reason to. There was nothing remotely interesting there to photograph. He pulled the camera from his case and sat cross-legged on his bed before turning it on and flicking through the photos. It took him a while to come across the older ones of him and his family before he came to camp.

"Hey, Mattie?"

Matthew nearly jumped out of his skin. Mattie? No one had ever called him Mattie before. He looked from the camera to see Alfred gawking at him from where he was laying on his bed. "Yes?" Matthew asked.

Alfred sat up, propping himself on his elbows. He seemed intrigued about what Matthew was up to. "What you doing?" he asked.

It took Matthew a few seconds to answer. He glanced at his camera and back to Alfred again. "Looking at pictures," he finally said. He was surprised to see Alfred's eyes widen in interest.

"Pictures of what?"

"My house. My family. Feeling a little homesick, I guess."

Alfred nodded slowly before lying on his back, nibbling at his nails. Matthew turned back to the object in his hands, scanning through the photos and pausing for a few seconds at every one to admire the shot before moving on to the next.

"Can I see?"

Matthew looked to the side again. Alfred was staring nonchalantly at the wall, chewing his lip and looking generally bored, but the occasional flickering of his eyes to the camera in Matthew's hand and the eager twitching of his foot betrayed to Matthew that he really did want to have a look. Matthew tried to hide his smile. No one had asked to see his pictures before.

"Sure."

Almost instantly, Alfred jumped up and bounded across the room like a puppy, hopping onto Matthew's bed and sitting cross-legged beside him, his face beaming. Matthew shuffled a little to make more room for him and leaned across to show the other boy the current photo on the screen.

It was of a large white building. Rivers of fresh honeysuckle and lilac wisteria bloomed all the way up the walls and curled around the iron bars of a second-floor balcony that was featured in the centre of the photo. Stone steps led from an arched door to a veranda made of polished wood that was covered with distorted lights from where the sun reflected off the surface of a crystal blue pool. Alfred's mouth dropped open.

"Dude, is that your house?" he gasped. The stunned expression on his face made Matthew giggle at how ridiculous he looked.

"Not quite. My actual house is in Toronto. That's Papa's summer villa that we own in the South of France. We stay there in the holidays."

Alfred stared at the photo, eyes wide and shining brilliantly with awe. "No way. It's huge!" he said, leaning in closer to Matthew to get a better look. Matthew shrugged nonchalantly, shuffling slightly in order to get some more room on the bed. 

"Not really. It probably just looks huge cause of the angle I took it."

Scattered around on the balcony and veranda were a mass of people, each engaging in some form of conversation or the other. In the forefront of the congregation stood a small group, pointing and laughing, or shouting in the case of a tanned man with dark auburn hair, at another man with silver hair who had jumped from the edge of the pool and was floating mid-air just above the surface of the water, fully clothed and clutching a beer bottle in his left hand. Two of the onlookers were laughing so much that they had to lean on each other for support. Alfred turned to look at Matthew.

"Who are the people?"

Matthew pointed at one of the two men collapsing into hysterics. His face was partly obstructed by the elbow of the other man, but his blonde hair shone like gold. "That's Papa," he said, smiling warmly. He pointed to the man stood next to the blonde, a tall brunette with bright green eyes, and then the silver haired man. "And those are my uncles, Gilbert and Antonio. They're not really my uncles but I've known them all my life so I like to call them that anyway." Alfred nodded, and Matthew pointed to the angry looking yelling man. "And that's Antonio's boyfriend, Lovino."

Alfred's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "That's his boyfriend?" he asked, staring at the young man in the photo. "But he's so young," he said, astounded. Matthew nodded consciously.

"I know. There's a fifteen year age difference between them. Lovino was nineteen when I took that. He's twenty-one now," he stated, making Alfred chuckle.

"Shut up," Matthew giggled, nudging Alfred in the arm playfully. 

Alfred flashed a grin and a wink before turning back to the photo and examining the joyous crowd. "You look like you're all having fun."

"Yeah. It was Gilbert's birthday. His parties get a little crazy so I try to stay out of the way most of the time," Matthew replied. He waited a moment longer for Alfred to finish looking at the photo before clicking over to the next one.

The screen showed three people stood together, two men and a woman in between them. One of the men was the man with the silver hair from the first photo. He was pressing a light kiss to the cheek of the woman on the middle, who was also receiving a kiss from the man on her other side. He seemed like a marble statue due to how perfect he looked, with wavy brown hair and sparkling glasses that rested gently on his nose. The woman was smiling and laughing, her cute nose scrunched up and her hand brushing the jaw of the silver haired man. 

Alfred drew in a sharp inhale of air. "Who's she?" he sighed dreamily, causing Matthew to raise an eyebrow in amusement.

"That's Elizabeta. She was my nanny but she now helps around the house when Papa is away."

Alfred was smitten, his cheeks reddening to a light pink. "Wow, she's real pretty."

Matthew chuckled lightly. "I know, right? I think Gilbert likes her, but he keeps denying it."

He clicked over to the next photo while Alfred was still cooing over Elizabeta. The American grumbled for a short while, but this ended quickly and soon the boys were chatting casually about every photo they came across. Alfred was amazed at each one he saw. For some so quiet, clean and proper, Matthew seemed to have quite a busy and fun-filled life. His family seemed to party a lot, and despite Matthew insisting that he was never involved, the amount of pictures he had suggested to Alfred otherwise. The exotic array of faces were always smiling or laughing, their arms around each other, hugging and embracing while trying not to spill their drinks. It made Alfred feel a little down at his plain and empty household.

"What's wrong?" he heard Matthew say to him after several photos had passed. At the tone of worry in his voice, he glanced up to see Matthew looking at him, his expression clouded in concern, violet eyes wide. A warmth settled in him at Matthew's look. It wasn't one he had ever seen before, yet there was something so familiar and comforting about it. He couldn't put a finger on what it was. Smiling back, he looked down at the pictures again, Matthew doing the same seconds after.

"You know a lot of people," he spoke softly after. Matthew didn't look towards Alfred, but kept his eyes on the camera, his lips pulling into a gentle curve. 

"Yeah," the Canadian replied, "Papa has a lot of friends. Well, I say friends. We're more of a family. A very big, slightly dysfunctional family."

Alfred let out a heavy sigh that puffed his cheeks out and leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "Damn. I wish I had something like that. All I got is Dad," he mumbled lowly. Matthew put the camera down and tilted his head.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Alfred shrugged, bring a hand up to ruffle the hair on the back of his head. "Nah. Just Dad. And Scotty, our dog."

His reply made Matthew snort. "All we have is a cat. I wish I had a dog. It could keep me company while everyone else is getting hosed," he replied, picking at the stray fibres on his jeans. 

Alfred chuckled a little, his eyes still stuck on the ceiling, before shuffling off the bed and standing up, stretching his arms above his head. "My dad doesn't get out much. He only really leaves the house to shop or have meetings with his editor. We don't get to meet many people."

"That sucks," Matthew said. "Maybe we could invite you round to one of our parties some time? He could make some new friends." 

Grinning broadly, Alfred hopped back onto the bed, nudging Matthew in the arm playfully with a fist. "Yeah, that would be awesome," he beamed. 

They carried on looking at the photos. Alfred was starting to think that all Matthew and his family did was get drunk and hug each other all the time. After a few minutes of flicking through the photos and Matthew explaining the story to each one, they came across the image of Matthew stood with a group of muscular men on an ice rink, Matthew holding a hockey stick dotted with little black writing, his face flushed red and sporting the widest grin possible for someone as reserved as Matthew. "What's that?" Alfred asked, pointing at the group.

"That's me with the Canadian Olympic Hockey team."

"Dude, that's so cool!" Alfred gasped in amazement. He jumped onto his knees and grabbed the camera from Matthew's hands, bringing it close to his face to gaze at the photo in wonder. His ridiculous face made Matthew raise an eyebrow in amusement. 

"I know, right? It was a present from my Papa for my fourteenth birthday," he chuckled.

Alfred ceased his admiration and peered around the camera, blinking at Matthew a few times before speaking. "When is your birthday?" he asked.

Matthew lifted a hand and ruffled the hair at the back of his head. Alfred was surprised to see that Matthew had the habit of doing that as well. How strange. They seemed to share a few quirks.

Matthew looked up at Alfred, his hand braced on the back of his neck. "July 4th-"

He didn't get a chance to finish before Alfred had dropped the camera on to the bed and gripped Matthew's shoulders in his hands, shaking him as he jumped on his knees. "Dude, no way! My birthday is the 4th as well!" Alfred cheered. His sudden burst of excitement, combined with the shaking and hopping that almost made the camera fall to the floor, left Matthew speechless. It was only when Alfred let him go could he comprehend how to form sentences again. 

"Is it?" Matthew choked out. "Scary…"

Alfred grinned. "I know right. We could totally be related!"

It was odd how quickly the thought was planted inside of Matthew's head. It started off small, just a whisper, a silent muttering that he didn't even realise was there until Alfred blurted out those five little words. A shiver went down his spine and a weird feeling tingled in the pit of his stomach. "R-related?" he stuttered out. He shook his head. No, that was ridiculous.

Alfred noticed Matthew's sudden change in behaviour. He went to open his mouth and ask if Matthew was okay when a trumpet screeched in the distance, distracting him and making him snap around to gaze at the cabin door.

"Awesome, it's dinner time!" he whooped before hopping off the bed and sauntering over to where his shoes were placed neatly beside Matthew's. Slipping them on, he went to push open the door and skip down the steps, but stopped on the first one when he couldn't hear the soft thuds of feet on wood behind him.

"Hey, Mattie?" he asked, craning his neck to see Matthew still sat on his bed, staring blankly at the spot where Alfred had just been. "You coming?"

Matthew jumped out of his trance, almost falling off the bed. The scene made Alfred smirk. He was so used to seeing the Canadian so prim and organised that seeing him so startled was quite a interesting thing to experience. Matthew composed himself before looking up and smiling weakly at Alfred.

"I…I'm not hungry. I think I'll stay here," he mumbled, so quietly that Alfred had to turn his head to get a better listen. His brow furrowed. Matthew looked fine, if not for a bit dazed and lost in thought. Weird. Maybe it was just his imagination that something was wrong.

A growling noise coming from his belly spurred him in the direction of food. Sending a sympathetic smile towards Matthew, he turned around and jogged down the steps and onto the concrete path. "Okay. Suit yourself. See you later!"

Matthew made no effort to reply. Instead, he got up from his bed and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

The sun was just about to disappear beyond the horizon when Alfred saw his cabin come into view at the end of the concrete path. The wind rushing over his arms made the hairs on his skin prickle, so he rubbed them in an attempt to quell the bumps that tingled across his skin in the cold. He sped up from a jog to a sprint, desperate to get inside and into his toasty, soft bed. The light from the windows seemed to be taunting him. He could almost feel the warmth of the cabin on his face with every step he took.

Alfred hadn't had a proper dinner in days. What was the point of going to the food hall if he couldn't sit or chat with his friends? The isolation table he and Matthew had to use as part of their punishment was so small and cramped that there was little room for even one plate, let alone two, plus drinks and desserts. No, Alfred much preferred to nibble on the snacks his old cabin mates had in stock than sit squashed up in a corner for the duration of his dinner. And besides, Matthew was so quiet. His friends were much more fun and interesting than him.

Were they though? Recently, although Alfred kept refusing to admit it to himself, he felt a kind of need to spend more time in the Canadian's presence. His friends were great people and he loved hanging out with them, but there was something about Matthew that Alfred found...comforting. Like he could be himself around him and he knew for a fact that he wouldn't be judged. Honestly, he found the moments he had with Matthew were quite pleasant. 

Their conversation before Alfred went to get food, and even the one they had a few nights ago, hovered in the back of his mind. It was strange how much they had in common, and even stranger that he had so easily spilled information about himself that he had never told anyone before, despite only knowing the guy for a few weeks. Alfred sometimes wondered how their odd relationship with each other would have been like if they had gotten off to a better start than him barrelling into the poor boy and breaking his glasses. 

“Probably a lot less painful,” Alfred panted, his rib throbbing a little as he pushed harder to get to the cabin.

Stumbling up the stairs, he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally reached the top and pushed open the cabin door, shivering as he embraced the heat and comfort of the room that washed over him not even before he had taken a step inside. He wasted no time in pulling off his boots from his feet and chucking them to the floor in a messy heap. Diving across to his bed, he grinned, loving the relaxation of his muscles and the smell of the bed sheets underneath him. Closing his eyes, he sighed peacefully. He could have fallen asleep right then and there.

The feeling that he was being watched made his toes twitch. Opening his eyes, he glanced sleepily at the other side of the room. Matthew was sat on his bed, holding a phone to his ear and sporting a scowl as he glared at the American with an expression that oozed annoyance.

"Oops…" Alfred said. Biting his lip, he sat up and scratched the back of his head, mouthing an apology to Matthew with a guilty look on his face. Rolling his eyes, Matthew turned back to his conversation. 

"Désolé, papa. C'était mon camarade de chambre. Il est très bruyant. Continue, s'il te plaît."

Oh. Alfred didn't know any French. Admittedly, he was a little disappointed that he wouldn't be able to find out what they were talking about. From the way that Matthew spoke of him, Alfred got the impression that his father was a pretty cool guy. It would have been interesting to hear what someone as collected as Matthew spoke about with someone apparently as extravagant as the Frenchman. And anyway, Matthew had heard Alfred's phone conversations many times. It was only fair if he heard just a little of what they were talking about.

"Je sais que tu veux t'amuser, mais... fais attention... Tu ne te souviens pas comment était le dernier ? Bien sûr..."

Alfred sighed and stood up, stretching his arms above his head. He took off his shirt and shorts before bending down to pick up his pyjamas, which consisted of an old tank top and a pair of tattered boxers, and had been left in a crumpled pile on the floor, pulling them on as quietly as he could. With every creak of the floorboards or rattle of the window he stilled, often in ridiculous positions half naked with one foot in the air. He saw Matthew snorting at him out of the corner of his eye and smiled sheepishly to himself. He must have looked like a complete moron.

"Je dois y aller, papa, mon camarade de chambre est un imbécile... Amuse-toi bien... Je t'aime aussi... Au revoir. "

Matthew hung up and dropped his phone onto his bed. He crossed his arms tightly around his chest, eyebrows furrowed as he leaned back against his pillows, and let out a noise that sounded like a mix between a quiet growl and a frustrated sigh. Alfred hadn't heard Matthew make such a sound before. Their conversation must have been quiet heated to make him like that. Alfred didn't realise at first; everything sounded different in a foreign language to him.

"What was that about?" he asked, shuffling onto his bed and grabbing his duvet, wrapping it around his shoulders like a cloak. Matthew glared at the ceiling for a few seconds before closing his eyes.

"Papa is going on a date tonight," he huffed out in reply. He certainly wasn't pleased.

Alfred raised his eyebrows in questioning. "You don't look very happy about that," he stated, making Matthew suddenly let out an sarcastic laugh. It made Alfred jump a little.

Sighing, Matthew stood up and began to pace steadily to and fro between the beds. "I'd be fine with it if he didn't bring a different person home every other night! It's a wonder how he gets anything done," he stressed, gesturing with his hands a lot harshly than he usually did.

Alfred chuckled and leaned back onto his bed, removing his arms from his duvet cape and placing them behind his head. "Man, what a lady killer," he commended. Matthew's dad seemed like Alfred's kind of guy.

Matthew stopped pacing for a moment to turn to his cabin mate, hands on his hips. "Not just ladies. Men as well."

The American's eyes raised. "Damn. Dude's on a roll," he whistled. Matthew's dad was definitely his kind of guy. Matthew rolled his eyes and began to pace again. Alfred really wasn't helping the situation.

"It's been like that since before I can remember. I just wish he'd settle down," Matthew whined before turning around to sit of his bed, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean, he's in his forties! Surely he should tone things down a bit."

He must have received the call while he was getting changed, Alfred noted. The Canadian was just wearing his boxers and a pair of socks. Matthew must have seen Alfred looking at him as he looked down and blushed a deep red at his lack of coverage, scrambling awkwardly to the folded clothing at the edge of his bed. As he pulled them on, Alfred stared at the wall, biting his nails.

"I could never see my dad dating," he said, causing Matthew to turn to look at him, "let alone getting serious with someone. I'm pretty sure his underwear is full of sand."

Matthew snorted. "I'm not even sure my dad owns underwear."

Alfred burst out laughing, doubling over and rubbing his waist when his hysterics put pressure on his sore rib. "Oh my God, I have to meet this guy one day. He sounds ace!"

The thought made Matthew groan in doubt. "I sincerely hope not," he grumbled, picking up a book he had left on the floor before slipping into bed.

Alfred's giggling died down quickly and soon the cabin was quiet. All that could be heard was the sound of Matthew turning the pages of his book. It was a nice kind of quiet, Alfred thought. Gentle, peaceful. There was something so comforting about the sound of books.

It reminded him of when he was a child. His dad would read him a story every night, both from books and ones he made up himself on the spot. They were always exciting tales full of danger and adventure, dragons and knights, superheroes that saved the city from the evil villain, cut-throat pirates that sailed the seven seas in search of buried treasure. Every scene would be acted out, complete with a variety of voices and movement, and even dramatic death scenes if the moment required it. They were his father's favourite scenes to perform.

Alfred found himself smiling at the memory of when he was little. He can't have been more than five years old. The evil pirate captain, Black Bryce, who had ruled the waters for decades with an iron fist, destroying any boat that came his way and stealing all the cargo, had just been defeated by the hero, Alfred the Brave, but was taking so long to kick the bucket that little Alfred was jumping up and down on his bed in frustration, begging for his dad to just die already. When the man finally did, falling to the floor in a fit of melodramatic chokes and sputters, he lay so still and silent that Alfred completely believed his dad had actually died.

He remembered getting down from his bed, tears threatening to burst from his eyes as he crawled across the floor and climbed up gingerly to sit on his dad's stomach, placing his tiny hands on the man's face, feeling the rough stubble of his chin and the bushy fuzz of his brow beneath quivering fingers, calling out his name in fear. His dad sprung up a second later, making Alfred jump and squeal as he was chased around the room. When his father caught him, he blew three huge raspberries on Alfred's chubby stomach.

But it was different now. His dad rarely read any more. Instead of pages turning, Alfred's house was filled with the sound of fingers tapping on a computer.

Work had changed Arthur Kirkland over the years. Alfred wondered if there was ever a time when he didn't have such deep, dark circles under his eyes.

His answer came to him like a bullet shooting from a gun. The only time Alfred had ever seen his father like that was…

"I think he was married once," Alfred said. His voice sounded so sharp against the silence of the room. Matthew yawned and turned to face Alfred, blinking away sleep.

"Sorry?"

"My dad. I think he was with someone ages ago. Like, seriously."

Matthew nodded slowly and lowered his book "How come?" he asked, yawning again. Alfred removed a hand from behind his head, scratched his nose and put it back before continuing. He didn't know how to start explaining. After a few moments of silence, he spoke.

"On one day every year, dad goes out for the day and doesn't come back until the next morning. He gets really drunk and starts crying, which isn't really weird cause he does that a lot anyway, but he says stuff like 'I'm sorry' and 'I miss you so much' and lots of other soppy shit."

Matthew couldn't take his eyes away from Alfred. The American was staring at the ceiling, his face twisted into a strange expression. It was like he was remembering something difficult to comprehend, and yet his voice was so soft and calm. Alfred always showed his emotions so clearly. "Wow," Matthew said, putting how book down on the covers of his bed. "Sounds rough. What happened?"

Alfred shrugged. "I don't know. But it must have been really nasty to have him saying stuff like that," he said. He rolled onto his side to face Matthew, propping his arm under his pillow to elevate his head. Matthew did the same, apart from he leaned on his elbow and rested his head into his hand, the other one fondling the edge of his boxers.

"What makes you think he was married?" he asked. At the sight of Alfred's clenched brow, Matthew was worried that he had said something wrong. He was just about to apologize when Alfred spoke again.

"One time I came downstairs and he was passed out on the couch. He was holding this photo of some other guy in this restaurant somewhere. He has a ring on and on the table you can make out the edge of a form with my dad's name on. I had to look up what the form was and it said it was a marriage certificate."

Matthew started to feel strange. There was something odd about what Alfred had just described. Something…familiar? Like he had seen this photo before. But that was the first time Alfred had mentioned something like that. What was going on? His heart began to beat a little faster, and he swallowed the tightness in this throat.

"Do you know why they broke up?" he asked calmly, although not as controlled as he would have liked as Alfred gave him a funny glance before looking back at the ceiling.

"Not really. I managed to get a little bit out of him one time, before he passed out. He said something about fighting and them being too different. It was kinda vague."

"Oh. That sucks."

"Yeah, I guess."

There it was again. That strange feeling. He must have seen and heard this all before. But where? Something was definitely not right. His heart was beating so hard he was expecting it to pound out of his chest.

He sat up slowly, throwing the covers off him in a flurry of limbs before standing up and stepping into the middle of the room. "What are they doing in the photo?" he asked. Alfred was staring at him, his face painted with confusion.

"I think the other guy is kissing dad on the cheek. I can't really make out much. The photo's really old and my dad is pretty much ripped from it. It's just the other guy, really-"

"What does the other man look like?"

"What's with all the questions?"

"For God's sake, Alfred, just answer me!" Matthew snapped, his voice cracking as it reached an unusually high pitch. His sudden outburst made Alfred sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. It was worrying him that Matthew was acting so weirdly so suddenly.

"I think he has long, blonde hair. Light blue eyes. Oh, and a beard. He's wearing a blue shirt as well, it looks real expensive. Gotta give my dad credit for snagging that."

And just like that, Matthew knew instantly what Alfred meant. It hit him so hard that he almost toppled over in shock.

The room was plunged into silence. All the colour that was left in Matthew's face was wiped away in seconds. He lifted a shaking hand and placed it over his mouth. "No. There has to be a mistake…"

Alfred jumped up and placed his hands on his cabin mates' shoulders, peering into his face with great concern. "M-Mattie? Are you okay?"

Matthew swallowed and lowered his hand. Violet pools pierced into blue.

"I…I think I know what photo you're on about…"

Alfred blinked. "What?" he stuttered, frowning with a confused look on his face. Matthew put a hand on Alfred's arm. His palms were hot and clammy, making Alfred grimace slightly, but he did not pull his eyes away from the boy opposite him.

"Every year, Papa locks himself up in his office and doesn't come out. One time he forgot to lock the door and I went inside and saw him crying over this picture of a guy at a restaurant. I crept in the next day and took it when he was at work."

When Alfred's expression remained the same, Matthew continued. "The man is short with messy blonde hair and m-massive eyebrows and bright green eyes. P-Papa is kissing him on the cheek…"

He didn't have to say any more before Alfred blanched. His arms fell from Matthew's shoulders and limply dropped to his side. Taking a step back, he ran a hand through his hair.

"What day does he do that?" he asked. Matthew folded his arms around himself, hugging his chest tightly. He dropped his gaze to stare at the floor.

"April 8th."

"That's when my dad does it too."

Matthew's head snapped up. His eyes met Alfred's. They were wide and shocked, frightened even. Matthew felt a heavy feeling in his gut. "The photo, it's torn-"

"Right down the middle."

Alfred started to clench and release his hands. Matthew began to pace around the room before settling on his bed to try and calm himself down. Tapping his feet on the floor, he rubbed his face and eyes, finger resting at his temples. Alfred wrung his hands together before turning to the other boy.

"You don't think…?"

"Do you have the photo with you?”

Alfred nodded. Matthew did the same. In unison, they dived over to their beds, tugging their cases out from underneath and throwing everything they touched to the floor in a giant heap of clothing and belongings until they got their hands on what they were searching for.

Slowly, they turned around to face each other. Each was clutching a small piece of white paper tightly between their fingers like their lives depended on it. Matthew was sure he would pass out if his heart pounded any harder. They took a step towards each other.

"On three, we'll show them to each other, okay?" said Alfred. He was shivering, though not because of the cold. Matthew nodded. "Okay," he said. They both closed their eyes, taking in deep breaths.

"1…2…3!"

Matthew and Alfred thrust open their eyes and pushed out their hands, shoving the photos out in front of them. As if by magic, the rough rip down the sides of each photo slotted together perfectly.

Two men, one with shaggy hair that stuck out at odd angles and the other with long, flowing locks of gold that hovered just above his shoulders, were sat at a table inside a lowly lit room. The man with the longer hair was leaning in to place a light kiss in the spot between the other man's ear and jaw. The other man was smiling, a pure, gentle smile that was framed by the light blush that crept along his cheeks. Their hands were clasped together on the table. Young and carefree, Alfred and Matthew had never seen a couple so in love.

No one said a word. The world had stopped spinning entirely. Matthew felt like the weight of the universe had just dropped onto his shoulders. He wanted to speak, but he couldn't. All he could do was stare at the photo.

Finally, after what felt like forever of them just stood there, Alfred spoke. "They fit," he mumbled, his voice softer than a whisper. Matthew nodded. He pointed to the long haired man in the photo.

"That's my Papa."

Alfred let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "And that's Dad," he said, pointing to the blushing man.

"And that means…"

"Our dads were together. Like together, together."

Matthew nodded slowly. "And if you were adopted and I was adopted…"

"And if we share the same birthday and the same parents…"

Alfred bit his lip. He stumbled over to his bed and sat down, rubbing his eyes before running a hand through his hair and scratching the back of his neck. He looked straight into Matthew's eyes. Matthew felt the hairs on his back bristle at his powerfully strong gaze.

"We're brothers," he said. Matthew nodded.

"We're twins."

Deep within the forest, a wolf howled at the moon. At that moment, over four-thousand miles away, nestled in the dark office of an empty house in the centre of London, a man looked up from his laptop and shivered as a chill went down his spine. Stood on the balcony of a pure white villa, watching the sun rise over a glass of wine, another man did the same. They had no idea how much their lives would change from that second onward.

For now, anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

Alfred and Matthew didn't speak to each other the next day, or the day after. They barely even looked at each other.

When Alfred woke on those days, Matthew was nowhere to be seen. Alfred didn't know where he went, and he didn't want to know. He didn't turn up for lunch on the first day, so Alfred didn't on the second. The only time they saw each other was in the few minutes before they went to bed. Matthew didn't remove his eyes from the pages of his book until he fell asleep, which he did so facing the wall, as if waking up to Alfred was a nuisance. Alfred barely slept after that night. How could he when everything he knew had been flipped upside down.

He had a brother. Not only that, a twin brother.

On the second night after the reveal, Alfred was going through his now consecutive sleep routine of staring at the ceiling and counting the cobwebs that floated between the beams of the roof. When he finished, he timed the seconds between every droplet of water that dripped from the bathroom showerhead. He knew that sleep was a distant dream, so he might as well occupy himself until the sun rose hours later.

Matthew mumbled in his sleep, words that Alfred couldn't make out. He turned to look at his cabin mate, finding himself mesmerized as the way his body rose and fell with every breath he took. That boy was his own flesh and blood, and he had absolutely no idea. He had no idea how he felt about the whole situation. Anger at his father for lying to him all these years, confusion at why their parents would do such a thing to them, joy at the fact he had someone he could relate to, and a hundred other emotions that churned away in his gut. How come he had to find out now? It wasn't fair, for neither him nor his…brother.

Alfred's brother, Matthew. Matthew's brother, Alfred. The words tasted funny on his tongue.

What would his life have been like with Matthew and his father with him throughout it all? He closed his eyes, letting the image of his home fade into view against the dark. Would they even live there? Would they still be living in America? He thought back to Black Bryce, the heroes and villains of his father's stories that were told to him when he was a child. Except now it wasn't just him watching his dad play dead. There was a tearful face with him, one with bright violet eyes, cowering behind Alfred like a frightened cub, and another person peering around the bedroom door, a light giggle floating from his lips. 

When Alfred and his dad had a viscous fight, instead of storming out of the house and running to the nearest park to take his anger out on a goal post, there was a pair of arms wrapped around him as he hid in his room, a soft voice ushering him into peace. Whenever he had a problem, he could tiptoe across the hall and creak open the adjacent door, talk for hours to those big, violet eyes until he felt like all his worries were gone. The house, which ever one it may be, would smell like baking bread and lavender, not dust and smoke from the toaster that exploded almost every morning. Someone to laugh with, someone to fight with, people he could never live without.

But none of that was true. He didn't really want to think about it, honestly.

What was Matthew's dad really like anyway? From what Matthew had said, he was a flamboyant chef with a good eye for the ladies, and gents, of course. To say that Alfred longed to meet him was an understatement. He was an entire portion of his life that he never knew existed! He didn't think he'd ever wanted to see a person so much before. What did his voice sound like? How did he laugh? What did he smell like? There was so much that he wanted to know, yet so much was out of his reach. All he had were the pictures Matthew had showed him a few days ago.

From what Alfred had seen, the man looked so violently French that Alfred couldn't believe for a second that he was actually married to the snobby English bog-brush that was Arthur Kirkland. They were completely different, from what Alfred could figure out, probably more so now, seeing as they had been apart for nearly sixteen years. The thought of what would happen if they ever met again was enough to make a smile creep up on Alfred's face.

What would happen if they ever met again? It didn't take long for Alfred to settle on the conclusion of absolute chaos. The clash of their personalities must have caused enough problems when they were together, let alone if they were in the same room now after all these years since their divorce. Not that it wouldn't be exciting to watch two grown men pummel the hell out of each other. Then again, would they even be like that? Sure, they broke up. But do such powerful feelings ever truly fade? After all, people don't cry in their offices for a whole day every year over a person they no longer loved.

It was then that Alfred got an idea. A stupid idea. A stupid, ridiculous, wonderful idea.

Without hesitation, he sat up as straight as a board, his hand flicking towards the light switch, clicking in on and bathing the room with piercing light. Alfred barely noticed his eyes were burning with the sudden brightness as he bounced out of his bed, the covers flying around behind him, and skipped over to where his brother lay sleeping on his stomach, facing the wall.

He didn't know how to wake him. Matthew looked so calm and at peace all curled up in his bedsheets, snoring lightly like a purring kitten. Alfred almost snorted. How were they even related?

He was at a loss. But he had to wake him up. So instead of doing what most would do, such as shaking him or calling loud enough to pull him from sleep, he climbed onto Matthew's bed and plopped down on top of the sleeping boy. The room was quiet for a few minutes, apart from Matthew's breathing, before the Canadian started to stir.

"Alfred?" he asked, his voice slurred with fatigue and confusion. He tried to lift himself up, but upon realising that he couldn't, he flopped back down to his previous position, the bed creaking under the weight of the two bodies. What on earth was going on?

"Hey, Mattie," Alfred chirped. He was rather comfortable, laying on Matthew like that. His head rested snugly in the dip of Matthew's neck, the Canadian's long hair proving to be a suitable pillow for Alfred's sore head, and his hips were balanced perfectly on what felt like Matthew's bottom, a fact that he chose to ignore upon reflection of how weird it was. Either way, he doubted he had ever been more comfortable in his life.

Matthew was not so accepting of his current situation. He craned his head as far as it would go to see Alfred staring at him through the locks of Matthew's hair. His bright blue eyes shone in the dark. Matthew wasn't very pleased to see them. "What are you doing?"

Alfred flashed a megawatt smile. He could barely contain his excitement. "I just had the best idea ever."

Matthew, unsurprisingly, wasn't impressed. The other boy was known for doing bizarre things, but this seemed to take the cake. "That doesn't explain why you're lying on me," he grumbled, trying in vain to shift his legs and stop them from going numb. Alfred was rather heavy.

The American didn't seem to notice the protest in his voice. "It's a brilliant beyond brilliant idea," he chippered, jiggling around a little, which made Matthew let out a deep sigh of irritation at Alfred's unnecessary behaviour. "Alfred. Go to sleep," he demanded, but the boy on top of him seemingly ignored him.

"It's so good, you'll love it," he trilled. He was practically giggling.

Matthew groaned loudly. He was too tired for this shit. "Please, it's like, one in the morning."

"Dude, I can't believe how clever I am."

"Go. To. Sleep."

"Maaaaaatttiiee."

That was it. "Putain de merde, Alfred!" Mustering up all the strength he could gather, Matthew forced himself upwards onto his hands and knees, sending Alfred toppling to the floor in a tangle of limbs with a startled cry. He glared at the fallen figure, who grinned up at him from where he sat crumpled on the wooden floor boards. "What do you want?" he growled. "What could possibly be so important that you can't wait until morning to tell me?"

Disregarding his brother's annoyance, Alfred pushed up onto his knees and gripped Matthew by the shoulders, grinning madly. "Okay, so. I want to meet dad. Your dad. French dad. Papa-"

"Yes, Alfred, I get who you're on about," Matthew snapped. The boy on the floor pointed a reprimanding finger at him, making Matthew raise an eyebrow. "Hey, don't interrupt," Alfred berated before continuing. "Anyway, I want to meet him, and you want to meet my dad, right? British dad."

Matthew rubbed his temples. They had begun to throb. "I guess so, yes. What's your point?" he asked. The feel of Alfred's fingers quaking with excitement and the deliberate strength of his gaze was not reassuring. Of all the things he could have said, Matthew was not expecting those next few words to come out of his mouth.

"Let's get our parents back together!"

It was simple, at least in Alfred's mind. How else was he supposed to meet his other dad and find out for real what he was like? He was expecting something big to happen at the reveal of his amazing idea. He waited for Matthew's face to glow in awe, for him to jump up and embrace Alfred, showering him with praise and appreciation at how stupendous and incredible he was. With such a fantastic idea, who wouldn't do such a thing?

Obviously Matthew. Instead of being bowled over in wonder, he squinted in the dark at Alfred's beaming face with unimpressed eyes before rolling over and curling up in the bedsheets, leaving Alfred staring at his back. The American frowned and shuffled over on his knees, flopping over the edge of the bed and nuzzling his brother's back with his head, rocking him back and forwards. "Oh come on, Mattie. Hear me out! Please…,"

Matthew was not in any mood to listen to him. Get their parents back together? He had realised by now that Alfred wasn't the brightest of bulbs in the box, but he didn't know that he could be that stupid. And he for one wasn't about to put up with his idiocy for much longer at this hour of the morning. "Alfred, get your ass into bed before I kick it there," he groaned, hoping that the boy would get some sense driven into his thick skull and leave him the hell alone to sleep.

Of course, it was all wishful thinking, for Alfred drew back and promptly jabbed the Canadian in the spine with a pointed finger. "Hey! There's no need for violence!" he chided as Matthew cried out at the sharp stab to his back, sitting up and twisting his head around to glare at the American while he attempted to rub the sore spot free of pain.

"Says the one," he mumbled bitterly to himself. His comment was barely above a whisper, but Alfred still managed to hear him. 

"Now you're just being rude," the American said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at his disgruntled sibling, who was equally as irritated.

"Alfred, you broke my nose."

There were a few moments of silence in which Alfred pondered the truth behind his brother's words. The fading purple bruise that spread to the corner of his right eye and the slight crook of his nose wasn't helping him find any evidence against the boy in front of him. "Okay, fine. You make a valid point," he admitted, letting out a strained sigh of defeat before flopping down to the bed, resting his head in his hands and his elbows beside Matthew's leg. "But seriously, listen to what I have to say. I promise you won't regret it."

His voice was surprisingly soft and pleading, Matthew heard. He had looked down to pick at his nails in annoyance when Alfred propped himself next to him, but at the sound of his voice in a tone Matthew wasn't used to hearing, he glanced up to see his brother staring at him with big, wide, bright blue eyes and an expression like a hopeful puppy. One look and Matthew felt instant guilt rush through him. Dear God, that face. He wanted so badly to look away but he just couldn't.

"Fine. Go on," he finally said after trying in vain not to give in to Alfred's desperate eyes. Damn you, Alfred. Damn you and your stupid face.

Alfred was over the moon. He bounded up from the floor and onto Matthew's bed, making it shake and rock as he shuffled around to sit comfortably with his legs crossed next to the other boy. There was barely any room for both of them, Alfred taking up the most space and Matthew squashed into a corner, beginning to regret his decision to listen to his ridiculous idea. Alfred pulled the duvet from under him and threw it over his legs to keep him warm before addressing Matthew, who he had unknowingly left with hardly any covers at all.

"Okay, so. I know for a fact my dad has never gotten with someone since our parents broke up. A couple of one night stands maybe, but nothing like a proper relationship," he started. He waited for Matthew to nod before continuing. "And you said yourself that your dad has been on hundreds of dates and had tons of relationships, but has never gotten together with someone serious enough to last very long, right?"

Matthew nodded again before rubbing his eyes. "Where are you going with this?" he grumbled. He didn't particularly enjoy discussing the topic of his father's many lays, especially at this time at night. Alfred pivoted on his bottom to face Matthew before clapping his hands together in excitement, his eyes sparkling.

"That must mean they still love each other! Why else would they have never settled down in over sixteen years?"

Matthew scratched the back of his head gingerly. Part of him wanted to agree with Alfred. His statement did make a lot of sense. Perhaps his Papa's many partners were him just searching for a reminder of what he had lost when Alfred's dad had left him. It obviously wasn't doing the trick, and there was more than enough evidence for that, so maybe Alfred was right. Maybe he does still have feelings for his lost lover.

But it was so far-fetched to think it was the only reason. It seemed too good, too convenient to be true. Humans are complex beings. There had to be another excuse for their parents' plethora, or seemingly lack of, romantic encounters. "I'm sure there are many valid reasons," he replied after having thought about Alfred's bold statement.

Alfred didn't seem willing to back down. "Nope. I bet your bottom dollar that deep down they know they still have feelings for each other and that's why they haven't gotten with someone else."

Matthew's headache was getting worse. Flinging what little covers he had off of him, he got up from the bed and ambled into the bathroom, picking up his empty water bottle as he went. He increased the cap of his bottle and went over to the sink, turning on the tap and feeling the water with his fingers to make sure it was as cold as ice before shoving his bottle underneath it. "Alfred, you're being ridiculous," he called into the next room over the blast of water. 

Alfred wrapped the covers around himself like a cape, tugging them closer to avoid the cold. He was a lot warmer when Matthew was close. "I'm not! They're totally in love!" he called back in a brusque manner. The sound of Matthew sighing was just a little too loud for the water to hide.

"I doubt it," the Canadian replied. He turned the tap off, watching the water flood down the drain in a miniature whirlpool until the drain gurgled with the last drops that dripped through. He leaned on the edge of the sink, running a hand through his hair. 

Alfred's voice sounded childishly bitter as he spoke from the other room. "How would you know? You're not them."

Matthew had had enough. "Okay fine," he said, grabbing his now full bottle and marching to stand in the doorway of the bathroom. The sight of Alfred curled up in his bed did all but quell his vexation. "Let's say that they are still in love. What makes you think that they actually want to get back together again? They have no reason to, and obviously love isn't big enough or else they never would have broken up in the first place."

"But that's where we come in!" said Alfred, jumping up and out of his blanket cave to stand a few paces from his disgruntled cabin mate, clearly oblivious to, though probably ignoring, his brother's logic. "If we get them to meet up for the first time since they broke up, those old feelings will resurface and get bigger and bigger and soon they won't be able to control themselves! They'll fall head over heels all over again and then get back together and I can finally meet papa and you can meet dad and we can all live happily ever after. It's fool proof!"

Obviously not completely fool proof, in Matthew's eyes. He rubbed he face and took a gulp from the bottle in his hands. "There's no way that some pushing and shoving on our parts will convince them to meet again, let alone get back together," he said, licking the stray droplets of water from his lips as he walked past Alfred to sit on his bed. "Face it, Al, this idea of yours would never work."

Alfred wasn't willing to back down. "It totally could! We could totally do it!" he asserted, gesturing wildly into the air. Matthew stopped halfway through climbing back under his covers to glance at Alfred in mock questioning.

"Oh really? And how would we go about it, eh?"

Why was Matthew acting like this? Didn't he want to see his other dad? Alfred could get his head around Matthew's unreasonable behaviour. "I don't know, but we could-"

"Alfred, please," cut Matthew, silencing the other boy. The room was quiet as a tense, pregnant pause hung around the two campers. After a few moments, Alfred took a step back as Matthew turned to face him. His violet eyes were burning with pity. "I know you mean well, and believe me, I want nothing more than for us to be together and have a normal family. I honestly do, more than anything I have ever known," he spoke, his voice as calm and as soft as falling snow. The power of his gaze combined with the gentleness of his voice left the American speechless.

Matthew looked down at his hands before continuing. His face was stoic, but it wasn't difficult to interpret the sadness in his expression, as if his words hurt him to say. "But they split up for a reason. And not even you, nor me, nor their love could stop that from happening. It must have been horrible for them, and to bring that all back wouldn't be fair on any of us."

"I know, but-"

"Give it up, Al. They obviously don't want to be together," he said before turning around and curling up in his bedsheets, his back to his brother. "You should realise that sooner than later."

Alfred knew it was pointless to argue back. Not bothering to hide his unhappiness, he stormed across he room towards his bed, his heavy footsteps making Matthew flinch at how aggressive they were. Just as he was about to climb into his bed, Alfred paused, and twisted his head around to look at the other boy. Matthew could feel his gaze drilling into his back, making the hairs of his neck prickle.

"Fine. But people don't cry every year over people they no longer love."

As Alfred got into his bed and turned the light off, Matthew didn't know what to do. He squeezed his eyes tight in attempt to force his body to sleep, but it did nothing. The room was sickeningly silent, except for the rattling of trees tapping against the window. Alfred's words were floating in the air like poisonous gas.

"Listen, Alfred. I'm really sor-"

"Enough. I was crazy to think that you'd ever consider dad as someone worth anything to you. Like father, like son, I guess."

Matthew didn't know that words could hurt him so much.


	11. Chapter 11

It was only the next day when Alfred had shut the cabin door behind him did Matthew get out of bed. 

He'd been awake for hours, but stayed within the protection of his bedsheets nonetheless. He knew that if he got up he'd have to face Alfred, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to that. Not after their conversation in the night. So he waited patiently, breathing deeply, staring at the wall until the door clicked shut and Alfred's footsteps had faded away into the distance before sitting up and swinging his legs around to sit at the edge of his bed.

After a few minutes of just staring at the floor between his legs, he decided that he should probably do something with himself before he sank into the mattress forever. Grabbing a jumper from where it was draped over the bottom of his bed, he shuffled into the bathroom to brush his teeth. The air was foggy with steam. Everything smelt like spice with a hint of chocolate. It was Alfred's shampoo. Matthew didn't stay in there for a moment longer than he needed to.

His clothes were in a squashed pile on the floor, having been knocked off of Matthew's bed when Alfred jumped on him. Matthew picked them up and slowly got dressed, not caring that they were the same clothes he had worn the day before. When he pulled on the last item of clothing, he found himself just standing in the centre of the room, his mind blank. Despite him telling himself he should do something productive that day, he didn't have the energy to move. If he went outside to do activities, his friends would just keep badgering him about why he was so gloomy, and if he had to tell them about his argument with Alfred then God knows what would happen. He didn't want to deal with that, especially when he was feeling so drained. Back home, if he was that dejected, he would play hockey. Obviously that was out of the question. 

"Thanks again, Alfred."

It wasn't his intention to make the boy mad. If he was being honest with himself, Alfred's idea was actually pretty good. Perhaps, if they did come up with a decent enough plan, perhaps their parents could meet again. It would be ridiculous, irresponsible and probably the most dangerous thing he would ever do, but if they could think of an idea free from flaw, maybe Matthew would be able it meet his other dad for the first time since he could remember. 

Ever since they discovered they were related, Matthew couldn't stop thinking about how different his life would have been with those two extra people beside him every day. All those days playing by himself would perhaps have been filled with laughter and adventure instead. Maybe his Papa would have smiled more. Would they even be living the same house he was now? Alfred's mess, the sound of a keyboard tapping, the scent of old books and chocolate, things he didn't know he could have had until a few days ago. It was all so overwhelming, too big for him to comprehend.

But that was why it could never happen. They could scheme all they wanted, but in the end it would never work. They'd spent so long apart that chances were those smells and sounds and feelings wouldn't mix like they used to. Francis and Arthur, their family, was a distant dream, an echo of the past. It was foolish to think that they were anything but that.

If that was the case, why did Matthew feel so sad? He knew the thought of their old family was pointless, so why was it that he couldn't help but feel like there was something missing? He wrapped his arms around himself, thinking about the last words Alfred had spoken to him.

Like father, like son.

Matthew couldn't help but let out a light chuckle. If his Papa knew what was happening, he would probably faint. The thought of his father made him feel more empty than he did before. He really did miss him, and the others as well.

"I wonder what they're up to…"

Walking over to his bed, he and rummaged through the sheets and pillows to come across his phone, which was nestled in the back corner and covered by a random sock. Maybe a check up on the events occurring at home would take his mind off of the mess where he was. Unlocking the phone, he skimmed through his contacts as fast as he could before coming across the one he needed, clicking on it instantly and calling it with the press of a button. Bringing the phone up to his ear, he waited patiently, yet anxiously, listening for when the receiver would pick up. Finally, after what seemed like forever of him just stood in the centre of the cabin, someone answered.

"Helló, this is the Bonnefoy residence. How can I help you?"

The voice was kind and welcoming, yet there was unparalleled strength behind it. Matthew knew instantly who it was. 

"Bonjour. It's me, Eliza," he greeted, sounding a lot more energetic than he actually felt.

He had to pull the phone away from his head when an almighty shriek pierced his ears like the deafening screech of a badly tuned violin. A scuffle on the other side told Matthew that she had dropped the phone during her sudden burst of excitement. "Oh, Matthew! I've missed you so much! How are you? How is camp? Are you hurt? Is everything-"

Matthew laughed away her concerns. "I'm fine, Eliza. Honestly, I'm fine," he smiled. Hearing her sigh in relief, he continued, a smile tugging at his lips. "How are you? How is everyone?"

"I am wonderful now that I can hear your voice again," she sang sweetly. She really must have missed him. "You have no idea how much we want you to be home."

A warm feeling bloomed in Matthew's stomach. Despite all the havoc they created, he really did love his family. A muffled bang made him jump. Eliza growled under her breath and shouted at the noise in rapid Hungarian before coughing her throat clear and addressing Matthew again. "Everyone is great," she managed to say before a giant clang of pans bouncing across the floor and the smash of glass interrupted her. "Well, not everyone…" she sighed. Matthew heard her say something quietly to herself in her own language before turning back to the phone. "I have to go, sweetie, it's lovely hearing from you!"

Matthew sat down on his bed, bringing his knees up to his chest. "Okay, bye," he mumbled. He had been hoping for a longer talk but obviously they were too busy for him. It did sound pretty hectic down there.

Seconds passed in which Matthew listened to the chaos unfurling on the other end of the phone. Crashing, shattering, and even the violent yelling of several familiar voices told him that it probably wasn't the best time to call, even if it was rather entertaining to listen to the damage being created. It was a common occurrence, after all. He was about to hang up when he heard a scuffle at the end of the phone and a warm voice echo out of it. 

"Mateo? Is that you?"

He sounded out of breath, like he had ran a great distance to get to him. Matthew couldn't help but smile. "Yes, it's me, Antonio."

Another little squeal made Matthew pull his phone away from his ears. "¡Dios mío!" Antonio chirped, "It has been so long! How are you, how is camp?"

He figured he could bend the truth just a little. "It's great," Matthew replied, brushing his hair back with his spare hand. Antonio sounded delighted.

"Have you made lots of new friends?" he asked, his voice as sunny and bright as the sky outside.

"A few."

Antonio let out a brilliant laugh that made Matthew's stomach bubble with comfort. "¡Bueno! See, I said you'd have fun. Tell me, what have you- hey!"

There was another disturbance in what seemed like the phone being snatched away and fought over viciously. Matthew sighed and rubbed his eyes. The rattling and cracking continued for a few moments until suddenly there was no noise apart from some ached groans. "Hello?" he asked, expecting no reply. Instead, a gruff voice answered back.

"Mattie? Hey, it's your best bud here."

"Bonjour, Gilbert," Matthew smiled. He had been wondering when the German was going to make an appearance. He must have heard from Elizabeta that Matthew had called. Honestly, Matthew had been expecting it. In that household, nothing was ever kept quiet.

Gilbert let out a cackle. He must have been equally as pleased to hear Matthew as Matthew was to hear him. "How you been, kiddo? Having fun? Get into any fights?"

The sound of Antonio gasping could be heard in the distance. "You can't ask him that!" he scolded, making Gilbert let out a frustrated sigh. 

"Oh, halt die Klappe!" he shushed, his words followed by what sounded like his hand pushing Antonio's face away from him, as shown by the Spaniards muffled splattering. Gilbert turned back to the phone. "So, did you?"

"No, Gilbert," he lied. He knew that if he told the truth, Gilbert wouldn't shut up about it, and if his Papa found out, Matthew would be in trouble in more ways than one. He'd rather not risk his neck in order to make the crazy German proud.

Gilbert seemed disappointed with him, but the tone of his voice gave the impression that he didn't expect anything else. "Shame. Oh well, better luck next time."

Matthew swung his legs up and laid down on his bed, resting his spare arm behind his head to prop it up against the pillows. "Is Papa home?" he asked, twirling his hair around his fingers. He froze suddenly when a massive crash erupted down the phone, followed by exceedingly colourful swearing and yelling. 

Gilbert coughed. "Old Francey-Pants is a little busy right now." Matthew could imagine him picking at his nails casually while the third world war exploded behind him. Matthew pulled his hand out from behind his head and scratched his neck before putting it back. 

"Oh? What with?"

His question was answered by the aggressive shout of "Ma' va te ne a fanculo, you stupid wine-bastard!" followed by the tearful spluttering of another person weeping dramatically in the distance.

"He's yelling at the Italians." There was a crackle of a crisp packet being opened before all Matthew could hear was the sound of Gilbert munching, obviously enjoying the chaos way too much.

Matthew rolled his eyes. The brothers were known for doing bizarre things, especially Feliciano, who had so much energy that he never stopped moving or talking until he tired himself out and fell asleep right then and there. Usually the mess he caused was done as a result of good intentions, so he rarely got more than light scolding. It clearly wasn't the case this time, especially since Lovino was involved. "What did they do now?" Matthew asked, preparing himself for some unreasonable response.

Gilbert carried on crunching his food before swallowing in order to reply. "Francis got a call from the Venice branch saying that Lovi had convinced Feli to take all his shifts at the restaurant so he could have kinky hot sex with Toni in the cupboards every day."

Matthew spluttered and choked on the air. Of all the situations, he didn't expect that. Then again, Matthew wouldn't put it past them to do something that crazy and downright stupid. There was a scuffle as the phone was snatched by another pair of hands and the panicked voice of Antonio pleaded into the microphone. "Mateo, do not listen to him. That is not true!"

The German let out a boisterous cackle before Matthew heard another muffled crackle as the phone was snatched back. "The sous chef caught you with his dick in your ass. Can't get more true than that."

"Oh wow," choked Matthew. The image he was presented with made his ears burn a bright red.

Another handful of crisps was shoved into Gilbert's mouth, which he crunched disgustingly loud down the phone. "Ja," he said between chews, "the whole kitchen had to get shut down to be cleaned. Press are having a field day. Franny is not happy."

"I can imagine."

"Scheiße, they've been doing it for nearly a month now. Every day for a month…How are you even sitting down right now?"

Antonio let out a muffled whine of despair. Matthew only just managed to hide his giggle with a quiet cough. "How come they weren't caught sooner?" he asked, bring his hand to his lips to bite his nails. The sound of Gilbert eating made his stomach rumble.

"Come on, dude, you've known them for years. They're pretty much identical, apart from Lovi scowls all the time and Feli doesn't fucking shut up. A little work and boom, anyone could mistake them for each other."

And just like that, a spark flickered in the depths of Matthew's brain. It was like a lightbulb had just burst, shattering all senses of logic and responsibility in his mind. He couldn't believe what he had just realised. He sat up suddenly, his woes instantly erased, and bounded up from the bed and sprinted into the bathroom, nearly tripping over one of Alfred's discarded shoes. Once inside the bathroom, he span to face the mirror above the sink, gripping the rim with his empty hand. It was still a bit misty from Alfred's morning shower, but that didn't matter. All that did was the pair of eyes staring back at him, wide with realisation. Replace violet with blue and…

"Yes," he said slowly. "I guess they do kinda look the same…"

Gilbert, oblivious to Matthew's sudden change in behaviour, filled his mouth with another pile of food. "Ja. I'm not surprised they could switch places for so long. No one had a clue."

Matthew nearly fell over. Could they? No, they couldn't. Not after everything he had said. But…could they? Could they really? They…could? No way. It was stupid, reckless, most likely illegal. But dear God, if they could pull it off… Goosebumps erupted all over his skin and his hand began to quiver.

"I have to go," he said emotionlessly down the phone. Gilbert stopped munching on his food.

"Really?" he asked. When Matthew didn't reply, he let out a low sigh. "Okay then. Seeya soon, kid. You need to call more often, alright?"

Matthew ran out of the bathroom, dropping the phone on his bed. "Yeah, sure," he called out before grabbing his shoes and tugging them on as fast as he could. Tying the laces far too tightly, he picked up the phone again and yelled a polite "Au revoir!" before hanging up and shoving it in his trouser pocket. Without looking back, he barrelled out of the cabin and sprinted down the steps.

It didn't take him long to find Alfred. The path to the clearing he and his friends gathered in was worn down by their feet walking over the fallen leaves and dirt. The gateway to this path was a jagged hole between two overgrown bushes littered with wild berries. In such an obvious location, it was strange how they hadn't been caught yet. Their booming shouts and laughter could be heard even at the cabin. Matthew was certain he could never get lost in that forest; their bickering would just guide him back home.

Matthew didn't know he could run so fast. The tournament a few days ago felt like a walk in the park compared to the speed in which he going towards Alfred's hideout. Trees were blurred into nothing as he zipped through them. At one point he tripped over a tree root, sending him crashing into the mud. In seconds, he was up and running again, leaves caught in his long hair.

He saw the clearing come into view. "Alfred!" he shouted, his voice breathy and strained from having run so much. A tall boy wearing sunglasses and another with spiky blonde hair looked up from where they were sat on a fallen lot. A boy that he recognized as the person who helped him up after his crash with Alfred in the food hall jumped in shock at Matthew's sudden shout, causing him to drop his water bottle. When Matthew fully entered the clearing, all eyes were on him.

Alfred was sat in a tree, leaning against the main trunk and letting his legs dangle down in the air. He had been watching a squirrel scamper around a nearby branch when he heard someone shout his name. Looking down, he saw Matthew gazing up at him between the roots of the tree. Toris blinked at him in confusion. What was Matthew doing here?

"What do you want?" he asked, his expression dark as he stared down at the boy below him. Matthew took a step forward, placing a foot on one of the roots.

"I need to talk to you," the Canadian said. His voice was firm and deliberate. Before the events of last night, Alfred probably would have agreed to speak with him. Now he just wished the boy would leave him alone.

That being said, he was curious as to what Matthew wanted to say. It seemed urgent, whatever it was, as the beads of sweat dripping down his face told Alfred that Matthew had ran to him. There was such a great strength behind his gaze that Alfred couldn't stop himself from dropping down from the tree and landing right next to Matthew with a harsh thump, knocking the Canadian to the side slightly. The glare on his face was dark enough to hide his interest.

"What is it?" he growled. "If you've just come here to gloat, I'm not gonna-"

"I know how we can do it."

His voice was hushed so only the two of them could hear. Alfred blinked obliviously at him. "What?" he spluttered out, feeling the gazes of his friends on his and Matthew's backs.

Matthew took a step back. "I know how we can get our parents back together," he said, his tone blunt and to the point. The boy in front of him was stunned into silence, just staring at Matthew like he had grown two heads. 

"Sorry, what?"

"Alfred, stop it. I know you heard me the first time."

The American didn't know what to say. He was drowning in confusion. "But…Last night you said-" he managed to force out before Matthew cut him off with the wave of his hand.

"I know what I said," he hushed, putting the hand he had used to silence Alfred on his brother's shoulder. "But you're right. People don't cry over people they no longer love. I should have listened to you. I'm sorry for being such an ass."

It took Alfred a while to rediscover how to talk. He was still rather lost as to what Matthew was on about, not to mention angry at how their night time conversation played out, but at Matthew's apology his face softened and broke into a warm smile. "It's cool," he said, placing a hand of Matthew's outstretched arm. "And, hey, I've been thinking about what I said to you last night and I totally regret it big time. It was so horrible and I didn't mean to-"

Matthew smiled. "It's fine, Alfred. You had every right to be mad at me."

"Okay."

Meanwhile, Alfred's friends had all stood up, apart from Heracles, who was snoozing on a large rock nearby, and had crept towards the couple to try and figure out what was going on. They had never seen them acting so…brotherly before. The only time Alfred ever spoke of him, it was to say how much the Canadian drove him up the wall. Why the sudden change in attitude? It was almost like they were friends.

Noticing their confused curiosity, Alfred let of of Matthew and took a few steps back. "Let's go to the cabin. We can talk there," he decided. Matthew nodded in reply, and both boys spun around and began to walk briskly towards the exit of the clearing.

"Yo, Alfred! Where're you going?" Sadiq yelled as they walked past him. Alfred looked over his shoulder while still walking to face him, giving him an enthusiastic wave.

"Just going back to the cabin. See you at lunch!"

They ignored the boys' whines of protest, keeping a steady pace as they disappeared between the trees. Alfred led the way with Matthew trailing a few paces behind. They didn't say anything to each other, merely enjoyed the other's company. It was only when they reached the cabin and slipped inside, closing the door behind them did Matthew start to speak.

"Okay, so I have this idea," he announced, addressing Alfred with a wide gesture of his arms. Alfred sat on his bed and clapped his hands.

"Shoot."

Matthew composed himself for a second, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before starting. "We're pretty much identical right?"

"Yeah. Apart from I'm way hotter than you."

"Shut up," said Matthew, hushing him with a quick look. He began to pace backwards and forwards in front of the American. "Anyway, we're identical. People mistake us for each other all the time."

"True."

He stopped pacing and span to face Alfred, who in turn widened his eyes in interest. "So…Why don't we switch places?"

Alfred blinked at him. Did he just say what he thought he said? "Come again?" he asked, leaning forward and tilting his head in questioning. Matthew came to stand in front of him. He looked like he was trying to make sense of his words as much as Alfred was.

"I pretend to be you and you pretend to be me," he stated, pointing at Alfred with a deliberate finger. "I go back to London, you go to France and we could finally meet our other dads!"

So, he had said what Alfred thought he did. The American rubbed his eyes before ruffling the hair on the back of his neck. Switch places? It was quite a bold statement. Would it even work? Or be worth it, for that matter? He didn't hesitate to voice his concern. "Mattie…I don't know-"

Matthew placed his hands on his hips, raising and eyebrow in disbelief at the boy below him. "What's up? You were all for meeting them yesterday."

Removing the hand from the back of his head, Alfred leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and cheeks squashed between his hands. "Well yeah, and I still am," he mumbled, looking Matthew once over before continuing. "But we're nothing like each other. And they're our parents, they know us better than anyone else."

He wasn't expecting a brilliant grin to flash on Matthew's face. "Exactly."

Alfred blinked up at him. Was Matthew going crazy? Maybe the sun had gotten to him. It was pretty hot that day, and he was wearing jeans. "What?" he blinked, oblivious to Matthew's intentions.

Matthew placed over to his bed and sat cross legged upon the mattress. He rubbed his fingers on his chin. "With enough work we'd be able to fool them for a short while to believe that you're Matthew and I'm Alfred."

"But they'll eventually figure out that they haven't got the right kid and we'll have to change back anyway," replied Alfred. He leaned back and stretched his arms. Matthew had definitely had his brain removed. It was the only explanation for someone as smart as him to be saying such inconceivable things. "I don't know, it seems kind of pointless," he added. He didn't expect for Matthew to gaze at him with all the affection and adoration in the world.

"Alfred, you're a great guy, but you're so fucking stupid."

"Hey!" Alfred snapped. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Matthew got up and walked over to his brother, bending down to take the American's chubby cheeks within his hands and squeeze them between his fingers. "Think about it, Alfred. They'll have to switch us back."

Alfred raised his eyebrows. What was there to think about? It would take a day at most to figure out that they weren't who they said they were. Francis would hate him for pretending to be his son and the whole plan would be ruined. God, his dad would not be happy at all. When his other dad brought him back, both Matthew and Alfred would get an almighty ass-kicking from both of them for being such idiots. He would never see daylight again.

Hold on, what was that? Matthew and Alfred would get an almighty ass-kicking from both of them for being such idiots.

Both of them.

Both…of them…

"Wait…" he said suddenly. The gears in his head had started to turn. "They'll have to switch us back…"

Matthew nodded, letting go of Alfred's face. "Yes."

"And when they do…They'll have to meet again!"

"Yes!"

"And we can make them fall in love again!"

"Yes!" cried Matthew, a brilliantly golden smile stretching across his pink cheeks. He leapt forward and grabbed Alfred by the upper arms. Alfred could feel his hands shaking with excitement. "We can spend time with our other dads AND get them back together. Two birds, one stone."

"Mattie, you're so clever!"

Without thinking, Alfred dived forward and hugged Matthew tightly around the waist, lifting him into the air and spinning him around before plopping him back down and squeezing him even tighter. A few moments later, Alfred felt arms wrap around him, holding him close. He rested his chin on Matthew's shoulder, nestling his nose in curve on his neck, his long blonde hair making it itch. Taking in a deep breath, he inhaled scents of sugar, clean cotton and fresh pine. Of course he would smell like that, he smiled. He felt a warmth spread through him.

"Okay, Alfred. You can let go now."

Not realizing how long they had been holding each other, Alfred let go and stood back, his hands resting on Matthew's arms, stopping the Canadian from stumbling with the relief of the weight on top of him. His grin was the biggest he had ever made.

"I can't believe it…" he said in a daze, taking a few steps backwards to crash onto his bed. "I'll finally be able to meet Papa." The sheer thought of it was enough to make his stomach flip.

Matthew moved to sit at the edge of his own bed, looking more exhausted than excited. He blew out a puff of air. "And I'll get to meet dad," he mumbled, equally as stunned that they were actually going to do such a thing.

Switch places. They were actually going to switch places.

Alfred let out a small squeal that turned into a giggle as he flopped down to lie on his back. "God…This is gonna be so awesome!"

A light chuckle made him look up. Matthew had stood up and was running his hands through his hair. "Don't get excited yet," he warned. "If we're really going to do this, we'll have to do a lot of work to be able to convince our family and friends that we are each other."

Sitting up, Alfred laughed. "Come on, Mattie! We're identical, you said it yourself. How hard could it be?"

He couldn't have been more wrong.


	12. Chapter 12

"Well. I didn't think it was possible to butcher an entire language, but it seems like your horse has come first in that particular race."

"Oh, fuck off!" yelled Alfred, flicking a pencil strategically towards where Matthew was sat on his bed. It bounced off of the Canadian's glasses, making him splutter, before landing on the floor and rolling away under Alfred's bed. Alfred flopped down onto his back, head hitting the wooden floor with a light thud. "French is so hard, man," he groaned, bringing his hands up to his face and rubbing his cheeks in frustration.

'It really isn't," Matthew said bluntly, fixing his glasses on his nose as he spoke. "You just need to try a bit harder."

Alfred sat up to stare in defeat at his brother. "Try harder? We've been doing this for like, four hours now!" he groaned, crossing his legs and pressing them to his chest with his arms. "We're getting nowhere."

Matthew couldn't deny that what Alfred had said was true. As soon as it was decided that they were definitely going to try to get their parents back together, the twins wasted no time in beginning the process of becoming each other. At first, they thought it would be easy. People mixed them up all the time, so how hard would it be to fool their parents? A few adjustments to their appearance and a few hours of teaching each other basic knowledge, and everything would be fine, right?

They very quickly found that this was definitely not the case.

The walls of the cabin could barely be seen over the amount of drawings, photos and diagrams that covered every single surface the boys could reach. Even the bathroom was illustrated with posters and little notes that covered the mirror, the sink, and even the toilet, so even in their most intimate moments could they learn something about the sibling they were to pose as for however long. It took them a day to assemble their life map, and a day more to accumulate enough personal information that they felt they would be able to write an entire novel on each other. With a week and a few days left until they were to go home, Alfred and Matthew were completely and utterly certain that Operation Parent Trap, as Alfred so fondly named it, would go swimmingly.

That was until a drawing of Alfred's dog fell on Matthew while he was having a shower, causing him to slip over, bang his head on the tiled wall and violently swear in French, that they realised that perhaps the plan wouldn't go as smoothly as they had imagined.

Matthew was fluent in French. Alfred was not. He was also fluent in Spanish, German, Hungarian, Italian, Greek and knew a little bit of Latin, but he didn't mention that in case Alfred had a heart attack.

While the American was very adept at soaking up most information like a sponge, he was less so at learning the few, basic phrases Matthew felt were most likely to crop up during Alfred's escapade as his brother. It didn't help that Francis was born and raised in Paris and would definitely notice if Alfred messed up the language of his country. The fact it was a risky element to skip over made Alfred all the more reluctant to learn it.

"Dude, do we have to keep doing this? I'm super tired, can't we have a break already?"

Matthew sighed and rubbed his temples. Alfred really wasn't co-operating today. "Look, Alfred, you don't have a choice. Papa is definitely going to talk to you in French at some point, and if you sit there blubbering like a fish out of water, he will know that something isn't right."

"I know, dude!" Alfred growled back, pushing himself up off the ground and onto his feet. "I know. But seriously, if we carry on for much longer my head is going to explode. I do know stuff, I promise." He walked over to Matthew and sat beside him on the bed, letting his head cool down to rest on Matthew's shoulder. "Please, bro. Just one little break?"

Alfred's affectionate nuzzling proved to be enough to sway Matthew's judgement, if only slightly. "How about this?" he said, making Alfred lift his head a little to look up at his brother when he spoke. "Lunch should start in about fifteen minutes. We could go over a few more phrases, and then do no more for the rest of the day. Et bien?"

"Bien."

"Your accent needs some work," the Canadian pointed out, making Alfred pout a little. Waving a hand to dismiss his sulking face, Matthew returned to the lesson.

 

*

 

Alfred burst into the cabin, making Matthew jump and drop his book onto the floor as the crash of the door hitting the wall made the cabin shake and creak. "Mon Dieu, Alfred. Calm down!"

Alfred ignored him. The American skipped through the cabin and over the Matthew, plopping himself onto the space between their beds while waving what seemed to be several white sheets of paper in his hand. "Look at what I've got!" he beamed, spreading the paper out onto the floor.

Sighing, Matthew picked up his book from the wooden floor and closed it gently, placing it neatly on the covers of his bed before slipping onto the floor in front of Alfred. His brother's face was glowing with pride and triumph, causing a smile to tug on Matthew's lips before he looked down to examine what Alfred had delivered.

The pieces of paper were actually photographs, all freshly printed onto plain white sections of card. There were fifteen in total. Matthew found himself smirking slightly. Finally, they would be able to solve the problem that had plagued them from the minute they decided to follow through with their plan in the first place.

Learning about Matthew had been relatively easy. After all, he had almost his entire life within the palms of his hands, condensed into the hundreds of photographs he had taken of his friends and family. Everything, from his favourite food to the colour of his toothbrush, the number of rooms in his villa in France to the name of the street he lived on in Canada, all of it was shown and described to Alfred with the click of a button. There was a lot to take in, and Alfred struggled at first to absorb all the facts and statistics that Matthew threw at him. But by the time they had covered everything, he could have written an entire book with all the knowledge he had about Matthew and his extended family. It took him just over two days to learn it all, minus the French, of course. He felt like he knew his brother inside out with almost no effort at all.

Learning about Alfred was a different story.

Unlike Matthew, Alfred didn't have a camera full of faces and buildings and objects to reference to. All he had was his phone, which barely contained anything due to it being a gift he only received a few months into the year. At first, he described the layout of his house to Matthew, hoping the Canadian could make sense of what he was trying to say. As Matthew grew more confused with every word that spilled from his mouth, Alfred turned to drawing instead, which they soon found out to be of little a success than describing was. Most of the pictures and posters on the cabin walls were about Matthew, and the majority of the drawings Alfred did looked more like squiggles or squashed plants rather than buildings and people. This made Matthew's job very difficult indeed.

The memory of their past difficulties made Matthew glance at Alfred with a questioning look. "Where did you get these from? I thought you said you didn't have any photos."

Alfred flashed a brilliantly wide grin, stretching his arms over his head. "The camp leaders' cabin has a computer in it. So I totally sweet talked Tino into letting me use it. Few clicks on Facebook and voila!" he trilled, gesturing to the abundance of photos laid out on the floor and looking extremely pleased with himself. Matthew tilted his head.

"Sweet talked? How did you manage that?" he asked, once again making Alfred grin.

"I knew my acquired knowledge on European punk rock bands would come in handy one day. Anyway, that's not important," Alfred announced loudly, making Matthew jump a little and drop his fork onto his plate. "What is important are these."

He pointed to the photos on the floor. Matthew gave them a sweeping glance before picking up the one closest to him and holding it in his lap.

The photo was of a group of people stood in rows before a roaring fireplace. Matthew recognised his dad on the first row to the far left. Beside him stood a young boy who looked almost exactly the same as him, and on the boy's left was a small man with a wistful face and thick brown hair. Behind them were three men with the brightest, reddest hair Matthew had ever seen. The tallest of the men had an arm around an older woman in the middle of the entire group. Every one of them had huge, bushy eyebrows that covered the majority of their foreheads, apart from the woman, who's thin brows stood out like a sore thumb amongst the mass of untamed hair.

"That's my dad's family. I took it earlier this year, a few weeks before granny died."

Matthew nodded slowly, staring at the elderly lady in the photo. She looked happy, surrounded by her family with a peaceful smile on her aged face. A strange kind of sadness went through him at the thought of never being able to meet her before she passed away. Sensing the melancholic tension coming from his brother, Alfred spoke again, hoping to take his mind off of whatever was troubling him.

"All these folks are dad's brothers," he said. He pointed to the tallest man with dark auburn hair and a bushy beard in the back row. "That's Douglas. He's the eldest. He and dad like, super hate each other, so you probably won't bump into him, so don't worry about that," he explained, waiting for Matthew to nod before moving on to the next redhead along. He was extremely pale, but this was barely noticeable behind the sea of red freckles that covered his face and neck. "That's Finn. He's pretty chill. And that's his twin brother, Colin," he added, pointing the the last man on the row. "Finn also totally hates dad, and Colin hates him less than Finn, but still hates him. So you probably won't see them either."

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "There seems to be a theme here," he mumbled, making Alfred chuckle a little and awkwardly scratch the back of his neck.

"Yeah…I think they had a fall out over grandpa's inheritance after he kicked the bucket, so they don't really talk much. I think this was the first time since Peter was born that all of them were in the same room without attacking each other. For gran's sake, you know."

Matthew nodded before looking back to the photo. "Who's Peter?" he asked. "Is he there?"

"That's him," Alfred replied, pointing to the young boy next to his father. He couldn't have been more than in his early twenties. "He's the youngest out of all of them. Dad doesn't like him much cause he's really annoying or something, but sometimes Peter will come around to ask dad for help with his work and shit. He's studying military history at university and dad knows a lot about that kind of stuff."

There was one person they hadn't talked about yet. Matthew pointed to the brown haired boy at the far end of the group. "Who's that?" He didn't expect for Alfred to break out into a massive grin.

"That's Aeron. He's so cool. I'm pretty sure he's high like, 90% of the time. He's always on about dragons and shit," Alfred giggled in amusement to himself. "He and dad kind of get along, but you probably won't see him either."

The next few minutes entailed Alfred explaining their father's relationship with his family in greater detail. Well, detail wasn't quite the right word to describe it, as Matthew found out. Because Alfred rarely saw them at all, so there wasn't really much to tell. There were a few facts to learn, such as where they lived and specific encounters with Arthur that could possibly be mentioned during Matthew's stay, but the descriptions were slim. At first, Matthew was a little annoyed that Alfred barely knew anything about his father's life that could be useful, but upon the knowledge that it wasn't really Alfred's fault, he figured that he could let him off the hook just this once.

"So long story short," stated Matthew once Alfred had finished explaining, "Everyone hates each other, don't let Peter and dad be in the same room for more than twenty minutes, and don't talk about the Fight of '92."

Alfred clapped his hands. "Bingo! I knew you'd get the hang of it quick enough" he laughed, making Matthew smile proudly at himself. "Okay, which one do you want to look at next?"

The boys were occupied for the next hour while Alfred taught Matthew as much as he could about his life through the photos he had. Matthew hung off of his every word, even asking him to stop occasionally so he could write notes down on stray pieces of paper he had in his suitcase.

Alfred had lived in a small rural town a few hours away from New York City since he was born. They moved to London when Alfred was thirteen, due to a scandal in Arthur's former publishing company that caused the Brit to switch to one more reliable, even if it did mean moving to a different country. He used to own a horse called Liberty, but they had to sell her back in the States before they moved. Alfred got very emotional while talking about her, so Matthew moved the conversation on quickly to the design of Alfred's current house.

Eventually there was only one photo left. Alfred was so engrossed in his description of his bathroom that he didn't notice that Matthew had looked away from him and had picked up the remaining photo to examine it.

It was of two men. They were both Asian, and were sat on the floor around a small table with their legs folded beneath them. The tallest man, who, due to the deep red mandarin jacket he was wearing with sleeves that fell past his hands, Matthew assumed was from China, had hair clasped into a ponytail that flowed in dark waves past his shoulders and halfway down his back. The other man was holding a delicate cup within his hands. The pale blue of his yukata and his jet black hair made his wide brown eyes appear like they were glowing gold in the light. Matthew found himself drawn to the image. He couldn't stop staring.

"…so yeah, don't go for the green one cause, oh boy, he will kick your ass! Hey, Mattie, are you even listening?"

Matthew pulled his eyes away from the photo to look at Alfred, who had now crossed his arms and was sporting an unimpressed pout. "Who's that?" Matthew asked, holding out the photo and pointing to the man with the golden eyes. 

"Oh! That's Kiku."

"Kiku," Matthew repeated, making Alfred blush a little more. He was glancing around the room, seemingly looking at everything other than the image in Matthew's hand. What an interesting reaction, Matthew thought. "From his name and the clothing, I'm guessing he's from-"

"Japan. Yeah, he's Japanese."

"Japan, right." A noticeable blush had started to bloom across Alfred's cheeks, and Matthew was trying in vain to hide his amusement. "Is he your boyfriend?" he asked innocently.

"W-what? Boyfriend? No, God no. Definitely not. We're friends, just friends. He's like, five years older than me, I wouldn't, you know, I'd never- we're just friends."

"Sure."

He looked so painfully embarrassed. Chuckling slightly, Matthew shuffled on his bottom to sit closer to his brother. "You're such an idiot, Alfred," he smiled, lifting a hand to ruffle his brother's blonde locks.

Alfred playfully punched Matthew on the shoulder. "Leave me alone," he whined pitifully, which only made Matthew laugh even more.

"I'm sorry," Matthew smiled. "You need to stop showing your emotions so obviously, dumbass."

The cabin was quiet for a few moments while Alfred sulked and Matthew stifled his laughter enough to address his brother again. "Come on. Tell me about them. Kiku and the other man."

As if their earlier conversation had never happened, Alfred instantly launched into conversation. The boys talked and Matthew took notes until the sky grew darker and the trumpet signalled the start of dinner.

 

*

 

Matthew stared in horror at what Alfred had placed in front of him. Three hamburgers, dripping with cheese, ketchup and fat, the biggest heap of fries he had ever seen, and, not so surprisingly, a cup close to overflowing with cola. Where did it all go? Was there even any food left for anyone else? Gulping, he looked up at Alfred. "I don't think I can do this…"

His brother looked back at him. "Bro, how are you even existing right now?" he said, his expression one of pure fear. His plate had barely anything on it. The tiniest portion of lasagne he had ever encountered, accompanied with a side of salad and a miniscule slice of what smelled like garlic bread but was too small to even be considered a crumb in his eyes. Surely, Matthew must be starving all the time with this amount of food, or lack thereof. Looking at the plate in front of Matthew, he felt his stomach rumble achingly. It smelled so good! If only Matthew ate like a human being instead of a mouse.

They had decided to switch meals for the remainder of their time at camp. The cause for this sudden action stemmed from a fight they had back at the cabin, in which Matthew berated Alfred for eating a packet of crisps he had been given by his friends like a pig, which in turn lead to Alfred promptly throwing said snack across the room, sending flakes and crumbs of the greasy food into Matthew's suitcase and all over his clothes. As soon as they ran out of energy enough to stop wrestling across the cabin floor like a pair of angry bear cubs, the sudden acknowledgement that facts about each other was perhaps not enough alone to fool their family and friends, the two boys sprang into action, learning almost instantly that big steps had to be made towards pretending to be each other.

Glancing at the gigantic mass of food in front of him, Matthew swallowed his pride and picked up the closest burger, feeling the heavy weight sag between his fingers. Alfred let out a quiet whine before picking up his knife and fork, holding them like they were about to sprout heads and bite his hands off. "Ready?"

Matthew nodded. It was now or never. He took a deep breath, and dived straight into the meal, tearing a chunk out of the burger with his teeth like a vicious wolf.

Alfred was lost for words at the sight of Matthew attacking his meal like that. It was rather gruesome to witness; the thick grease that oozed between his teeth and down the corners of his mouth, the cheese that fell from his lips and onto the plate everything Matthew took a humongous bite, it began to make him feel ill. Picking at the lasagne on his plate with his fork, he tried in vain to shovel the food into his mouth as the chewing and slurping across from his grew louder. After a minute of attempting to eat, he slammed his cutlery onto the table, creating a bang that ricocheted around the food hall. "Would you stop that?!" he shouted, making Matthew stop halfway through shoving a handful of fries into his face.

"Stop what?" Matthew asked. It took Alfred a while to figure out what he was saying, due to Matthew's mouth being stuffed full of food. The American glared at him bitterly, grabbing his knife and jabbing it in the direction of his brother.

"Stop eating like that. It's disgusting! You're putting me off my dinner."

Matthew swallowed before wafting a greasy hand towards Alfred in order to make him out his knife down. "I'm only eating like you do," he said bluntly, grabbing his drink and taking a deep gulp from it. Droplets of cola dripped from his lips and onto his shirt.

"I do not eat like that!"

"Yes, you do. I wouldn't acting like this otherwise,"

The American pinched his nose at the putrid stench that drifted over to him. "You're totally doing this on purpose just to annoy me. I do not eat-"

"Like a pig?" cut Matthew. The deep red blush that spread like a bruise across Alfred's cheeks and ears was the most satisfying victory Matthew had achieved throughout his time at camp. Grumbling angrily to himself, Alfred stabbed his lasagne with his fork and ate quietly as he sulked, Matthew returning to devour the next burger with a smile on his face.

Alfred figured it couldn't get any worse until he heard his name being called. "Hey, Alfred!" Sadiq yelled from across the dinner hall, closely followed by a waving Toris and a practically euphoric Mathias, who bounded towards his table like an excited puppy discovering something new to play with. A pool of guilt swelled in his gut. He'd been so busy with Matthew that he hadn't spent much time with his old cabin mates, only seeing them a couple of times a week as opposed to every day, like he used to. He tried to think of a decent excuse quick enough, but it was too late. They had already reached the table.

He was about to prepare himself for an almighty ass-kicking, but soon found that he didn't need to.

"Yo, Kardesim. Where've you been recently?" Sadiq asked, clapping Matthew on the back instead of Alfred. For a second, Matthew stared at Alfred with a look that screamed for aid, but when Alfred only stared back in shock, the Canadian swallowed his mouthful and turned to face Alfred's friends, a booming laugh billowing from his mouth.

"'Sup dude. Hey, I'm so sorry I haven't been to see you guys much," he apologised, putting his hand on Sadiq's arm and nodding towards Toris and Mathias. "My rib has been playing up and, I don't know, I guess I didn't want to be a burden to you guys. Sorry bro."

There was an awkward silence in which Alfred stared at Matthew with a look of absolute horror before Alfred's friends laughed off Matthew's comment and Mathias leaned forward to punch Matthew affectionately in the arm. "You should have just said!" the Dane beamed.

"Yes! And you would never be a burden to us, Alfred."

Sadiq clapped Matthew around the back of his head. "Yeah, salak. Get those dumb thoughts out of your head before I have to punch them out myself," he said, making Matthew let out another booming laugh.

"Yeah, I know. Just didn't want to worry you guys."

Alfred couldn't believe what he was witnessing. It was probably the scariest thing he had ever seen. And he didn't laugh like that! Matthew exaggerated everything. Feeling a little jealous, he was about to speak up and inform his friends that he was in fact Alfred, but was stopped short when Sadiq suddenly span and pointed a commanding finger straight at him.

"Listen here, kid. You best be taking care of my friend here," the Turkish boy growled at him, making Alfred cower slightly in his seat. "If I hear you've been giving him shit, I will personally kick your ass myself, whether Alfred wants me to or not. You understand?"

He wasted no time in nodding. "Y-yes," he stuttered. He didn't know his friend could be this scary. Seemingly satisfied, Sadiq withdrew his finger and turned back to Matthew to smile at him in a friendly manner. 

"See you around, kid," he laughed, clapping Matthew on the back one more time before turning to walk away to his table at the other side of the food hall. Toris gave a quick wave and followed suit. Mathias patted Matthew's shoulder as he passed. "Be sure to visit us soon, okay?"

"Sure thing! See y'all later." 

Matthew let out the breath he was holding in relief before turning back to face Alfred. The American was stunned speechless, his mouth opening and closing in a mixture of shock and confusion. The sight was enough to make Matthew chuckle. "You look like a fish," he giggled.

The napkin that flew towards his face was enough to silence his amusement for a short while.

 

*

 

The realisation hit Alfred like a freight train one night as he got ready for bed. Matthew was already tucked in snugly under his bed covers, a book propped against his lifted legs and a serene look on his face as he delved deeper into his book. Ever since he discovered that Kit Bryce was his father, the Canadian was rarely seen without one of the author's books in his hand or lap, head buried within the pages and mind lost in the stories being told. Alfred watched him over his shoulder as he stripped and pulled on his pyjamas, pausing every now and then whenever Matthew laughed quietly to himself or mumbled little comments towards the characters about their antics. Truthfully, Alfred was happy to see his brother so at peace. It was something he had never known before, and he was so used to it now that he didn't even want to think about what it would be like not falling asleep to the sound of pages turning on the other side of the room.

It was then that he saw it. He was just about to put on the shirt he wore to bed when he caught Matthew moving in the corner of his eye. Matthew shuffled slightly to a more comfortable position, leaning his head against his hand. The lengths of blonde fell just past his shoulders. As he turned another page, Matthew began to twirl a lock around one of his fingers. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but to Alfred it couldn't have been more obvious if Matthew had grabbed him by the shoulders and shouted right in his face.

"Shit."

Matthew didn't look up from his book. "What is it?" he asked, continuing to twist the strands of hair around his fingers. When Alfred didn't reply, Matthew glanced over the edge of his book to see Alfred staring at him with wide, slightly horrified eyes. "Alfred?"

Alfred swallowed. "Y-your hair," he stuttered out. Matthew blinked at him a few times before sitting up properly and running his hands through the blonde locks. 

"What about it?"

"It's long."

The Canadian ceased his grooming to stare pointedly at his brother in confusion. "Yes. It is," he said slowly. Was this all Alfred wanted to say?

Evidently not. Alfred took a step closer to Matthew. "Mine is short," he said, pointing to his head. He looked so lost that Matthew could have laughed.

"Are you feeling okay, Alfred?"

Without warning, Alfred lunged forward, grabbing Matthew by his arm and dragging him out of his bed, sending the bed covers flying to the floor. "Alfred, what are you doing?" Matthew cried out as his brother pulled him across the room and shoved him roughly into the bathroom, closing the door behind them. "Merde, Alfred, what on earth-" he managed to burst out before Alfred ripped the pictures from the bathroom mirror and gestured forcefully at their reflections.

"Look!"

And Matthew did. At first he didn't understand what he was looking for. His glasses had fallen off when Alfred hugged him from his bed, so he could barely see anything besides two fuzzy blobs of yellow and the bright red of his pyjama shirt. One of the blobs moved, and then Matthew could see everything as clear as day. He arranged Alfred's glasses on his nose to a comfortable position before taking a long hard look at him and his brother in the mirror.

It took him a few moments to realise what Alfred had made a big deal about. He was distracted by the sight of Alfred without his glasses on, which was equally as disturbing as it was hilarious, but slowly his gaze flickered to his own appearance. And then it hit him.

Alfred's hair fell just below his ears, bangs short and neatly trimmed, besides one section that stuck out at an odd angle over his forehead. Matthew's hair flowed around his face and down his neck to gently brush his shoulders.

"Shit."

Half an hour later, Matthew was sat on the lid of the toilet with Alfred stood beside him, a pair of scissors clutched in his shaking hand.

"Oh my God, this is crazy. This is so crazy. Oh my God, I'm going to die," he breathed, wringing his hands in his lap and rubbing his arms to try and quell the goose bumps that had erupted all over his skin. Alfred put his empty hand on his brother's bare shoulder. Matthew had taken off his shirt, claiming that he didn't want his clothes to itch afterwards.

"It's okay, man. Everything is going to be fine."

Matthew scoffed. "Is it? Is it really?" he cried, his face falling into his hands. "If Papa finds out, dear God, he will murder me."

"I don't think-"

"Trust me, he's a chef. He owns the biggest collection of knives I have ever seen. And he probably knows how to make human meat look like chicken. I'll be eaten by rich people all across Europe-"

"Mon Dieu, Mattie! Calm the fuck down! Pleure un coup, tu pisseras moins..."

Matthew turned to his brother in surprise. "Hey," he frowned, elbowing his brother in the ribs. "There's no need to be rude."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Now stop being a drama queen and let me do this. It's for a good cause."

Matthew span back around at this, running his hands through his hair one last time. "I know, sorry. I just…It's my hair, you know."

"Exactly. So it's going to grow back eventually! Just relax, and let me do the work. I promise you'll look great."

"You mean I'll look like you."

"Not with that attitude you won't."

The Canadian let out a small laugh before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Do it." The room was silent apart from the dripping of the sink. When Matthew heard a snipping sound and felt something soft brush against his lower back, he almost screamed.

It felt like forever until Alfred finally finished. "That's it," he said with a voice barely above a whisper, yet so piercing that it made Matthew jump. Matthew had had his eyes closed the entire time, firmly believing that if he was the stray patches of hair on the floor that he would either vomit or pass out. He brought his hands up to his eyes and covered his face with his palms, slowly standing up and turning, with Alfred's help, to stand before the mirror. Hesitating, he stood hidden behind the safety of his hands for a few moments longer before bringing them away for his face and staring at his reflection.

"Fuck me running."

If he didn't look so astounded and if Alfred wasn't grinning like a Cheshire cat, it would have been impossible to distinguish between the two. Matthew could have sworn he was looking at Alfred himself and not his own reflection. He lifted a hand to stroke the back of his head, flinching slightly when he felt short, jagged strands instead of smooth, thick locks, his mouth dry and eyes wide. Alfred put the scissors in the sink and lifted his arm to wrap it around his brother's quaking shoulders. 

"Bonjour, Alfred," he said. He had to brace himself against the sink when Matthew jumped around and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Dude, this is totally mental," he mumbled into his brother's neck. Alfred laughed and enveloped his arms around Matthew, patting his back.

"Now you're starting to sound like me."

 

*

 

The last day of camp seemed so far away. When Matthew and Alfred awoke on the morning of their departure, they didn't know what to do. Matthew woke first, pulling himself reluctantly out of bed and shuffling sleepily towards the bathroom and into the shower, because that's what Alfred would have done. Alfred woke to the water running, just like Matthew did every morning, and pushed himself to sit up in bed. The cabin seemed so empty and lifeless with the walls now bare and free of paper and drawings. They had taken the posters down before they went to sleep in their beds for the last time.

Matthew had already packed his suitcase for Alfred, leaving out all the essential items of clothing and toiletries he would need neatly beside his brother's bed. Alfred, unsurprisingly, had not packed his bag, and his belongings were scattered around the room like they usually were. He went around and gathered all his possessions, shoving them into his bag unfolded and unorganized, resorting to sitting on it in order to be able to zip it back up again. He pulled on Matthew's clothes: a pair of boxers, baggy jeans, a plain, loose fitting shirt, and finally a large red jumper, before sitting on Matthew's bed and pulling his socks and sneakers on his feet, waiting patiently for Matthew to finish in the bathroom.

When Matthew finally came out wearing only his boxers, like Alfred did every time he had a shower, he faulted at the sight of Alfred sat calmly and quietly on his bed. It was like he was staring at a photograph someone had taken of him. Hearing Matthew walk into the room, Alfred stood up and walked past Matthew and into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Neither brother looked at the other as they passed.

When Alfred entered the room again, the sight of Matthew wearing his clothes made his stomach churn. He could have sworn he was staring into a mirror. Matthew looked up at him, sending Alfred a smile that the American replied with one of his own. "This is it," he said, his voice like a knife cutting through the air. "We're actually doing this."

Matthew nodded. Shaking slightly, he leaned down to pick up Alfred's bag, lugging it over his shoulder. Alfred crossed the room and pulled Matthew's suitcase up off the bed. The cabin was silent as neither boy moved, but after a few moments, Matthew began to step steadily towards the door, pulling it open and stepping outside. Alfred followed soon after, pausing for a second to take one last look at the cabin that had changed his life forever, before shutting the door behind him.

They walked silently down the dirt track and towards the rest of camp. It wasn't that they didn't want to say anything, because they did. They just didn't know what to say. From the moment they saw each other, from the second Alfred had laid his eyes on the boy walking beside him, from the instant Matthew had vowed that he would never meet someone quite as horrible and despicable as the stupid American who broke his glasses, their lives had changed completely. When they first walked in to W Camp, they were two boys with single parents that lived utterly different lives. Now, as they got gradually closer to the chaos ensuing at camp, they had a family worth fighting for. All they had to do now was enter the battlefield. It was too frightening, too unbelievable, too exciting a thought for either one of the brothers to comprehend.

On the outskirts of the dirt track exit, Matthew stopped. Alfred continued to walk, not realising that Matthew wasn't beside him until he had stepped into the main body of the camp. "Mattie…?" he called out, spinning around to see his brother stood in the centre of the path. He walked up to his brother, placing his hands on Matthew's shoulders to feel him shaking. "Bro, are you okay?"

Matthew clenched his eyes shut. No, not now, he begged himself. Please not now. "I…I just…" he managed to choke out before tears poured from his eyes. His cheeks were barely set before Alfred had pulled him into his arms.

"It's okay, Mattie. It's alright. You can do this, I know you can," Alfred whispered as he soothed Matthew's back with his hands. Matthew gripped the back of his jumper that Alfred was wearing as he cried into his brother's neck.

"I can't…I can't believe we're actually…doing this…" he said between sobs. Alfred nodded, ushering him to calm down. "God, it's so stupid…We're so stupid…"

"Think of dad. Think about him and all the stuff you guys are going to do. This is why we're doing this, for him, and for papa as well. And for us."

Matthew pulled away from Alfred, his hands resting on Alfred's arms. "D-dad…He-He's going to hate me…He'll think I'm boring and terrible and…and he'll despise me, I know he will…He's going to, to hate me because I'm not you…"

"Oh, Mattie," Alfred cried out, taking his brother's face within his hands and wiping away the tears with his thumbs as he stared into the watery pools of violet. "Mattie, he will love you. He will love you so much, I can't stress this enough. Dear God, he will love you as much as I do, I promise. You're his son, you're his fucking son. Holy shit, Mattie, he will fucking adore you or so help me God, I will fly back to London and kick his ass myself. Mattie, he will love you. I promise."

Alfred waited patiently for Matthew's crying to fade into quiet sniffling before releasing him and stepping back to give Matthew some air. The Canadian wiped his nose on the back of his hand before looking up at Alfred and biting his lip. "Sorry."

"It's okay." The American picked up Matthew's suitcase and turned to grin at him. "You ready?"

Matthew bent down to pick up Alfred's bag, wiping his eyes on his sleeve one more time before nodding and jogging forward to keep pace with his brother as they fully entered camp.

The entrance to camp was loaded with cars and flooded with children darting in every direction to locate their parents and carers. Alfred and Matthew distanced themselves from the rest of the campers, placing their bags at the back of the crowd before vanishing into the mass of bodies to locate and say goodbye to their friends. "Meet back here in ten minutes," Matthew demanded. "I have something I want to give you."

It took them no time at all for Alfred to find Matthew's friends and for Matthew to find Alfred's. Ivan stood out like a sore thumb as he towered over the rest of the crowd, and with Ivan came Carlos and Feliks. They traded contact information, wasting no time at all with the demands to see each other again in the future. Alfred didn't want to stay too long around them, the memory of his ambush in the forest still fresh in his mind.

"Goodbye, friend. I am hoping to hear from you again."

"You are like, such a great guy. Call me, okay?"

"See you later, amigo! It was nice meeting you."

"Au revoir! Have a safe trip home!" Alfred called to each one as they gradually left him by himself in the middle of camp. As soon as Carlos has disappeared into his car, Alfred broke into a sprint and ran back to where he and Matthew had left their bags.

Matthew was already there when he got back. "Here," Alfred said, handing Matthew the list of email addresses and phone numbers he had gathered from his friends. Thanking him profusely, Matthew gave Alfred a list of his own friend's contacts, of which Alfred was extremely grateful for. A part of him was sad that he couldn't see his friend's one last time before he left, but he couldn't afford to be upset at that moment. He gripped Matthew by the shoulders.

"Okay. So, your job is to find out how dad and papa met."

Matthew nodded. "And your job is to find out why they broke up."

"And we both have to get them to realise their love for each other."

"Yes."

Alfred laughed, letting go of Matthew. "It all seems easy, doesn't it?"

Matthew didn't reply. Instead, he pulled something from his pocket, handing it to his brother.

It was the photograph that had been ripped in two, but only the side that showed Arthur. Alfred took it and looked up at Matthew. "This is…"

"I figured you'd want a photo to remember him by while you were away. I have the one of papa. When we see each other again, hopefully we can put this photo together for good."

Alfred didn't know what to say. The realisation of what he was about to do suddenly washed over him. Nodding slowly, he put the photo into his pocket and pulled Matthew into one last, final hug.

"I love you, bro."

Matthew laughed. "I love you too."

"Attention! A car for Alfred Kirkland has arrived. Alfred Kirkland, can you please make your way here!"

Pulling back, Matthew let in a deep breath. "Alright. That's me," he said, his quaking voice betraying the fact that he wasn't as confident as he seemed to be. "Goodbye, Alfred." Picking up his bag, he sent his brother one last smile before spinning around and walking towards the maze of vehicles that sat belching smoke beyond the camp exit. Alfred watched him go, a sad smile on his face.

"Goodbye, Matthew."


	13. Chapter 13

The plane journey to England was probably the roughest trip Matthew had ever been on. Squashed between a rather large man with extremely unpleasant body odor, whose bottom took up the majority of Matthew's seat as well as his own, and an elderly lady who snored with the power and might equal to that of an elephant, rivaled only by the volume in which she chewed on the low quality airline meals, made for an unbelievably uncomfortable flight. 

Seven hours of continuous noise, the stench of sweat and sour breath, and the woe of having a screaming child kick the back of his seat every few seconds was enough to put him off of planes and people for a lifetime. He tried to take his mind off of the chaos ensuing around him by taking a nap, hoping that when he opened his eyes they would be landing and he could get away from that flying tube of hell as quickly as possible. The child behind him made sure this didn't happen.

The only thing that kept him sane was the photo of his father he had stashed within his jumper pocket. He ran the edges of the paper through his fingers, checking religiously to see whether it was still there, relishing in feelings of relief and comfort every time he felt it brush against his skin. When the plane eventually went quiet with the sound of sleep, he pulled it out to look upon his father's joyous face as he kissed the man that Matthew himself was to meet in only a few hours. Anxiety twisted in his gut. Soon he would be smiling and laughing and arguing with one of the most important people in his life, someone so precious to him that he was baffled by the fact that they had never met properly before. In a few more hours, his life would never be the same. Suddenly feeling rather ill, he distracted himself by watching the sun dye the sky yellow outside the window nearby.

A smile tugged on his lips. Somewhere amongst the clouds, Alfred was flying too. He was probably feeling as nervous and as frightened as he felt, although he was most likely dealing with it all better than Matthew was. It wasn't just Matthew who was going through this rollercoaster of an experience. They were in it together. Matthew looked down the photo in his hands, running a finger gently over the figure of his father.

"You'll love him, Papa. He's everything you could have ever dreamed of, and more."

Matthew fell asleep soon after, the photo folded safely within his hand. It was only when the plane hit the runway of Heathrow airport with a harsh bump did he jump awake and scramble around with the other passengers to assemble his belongings.

He wasn't much fazed by the wave of chill that came to greet him when he stepped off of the plane. Alfred had gone on a lengthy tangent about how England's weather was as icy and as brittle as frozen glass, warning Matthew to wear a jumper or coat at all times or else fear the wrath of a runny nose and brutally sore throat, clearly forgetting that Matthew came from Canada and was more than familiar with the concept of cold climates. Granted, his weeks in camp had gotten him used to the pulsating heat of America in the summer, but for the most part he felt that Alfred had exaggerated the woes of British weather just a little. Not that he was surprised.

The airport was overflowing with people from all walks of life. Matthew felt like he was drowning in the sea of bodies as he made his way through the never-ending corridors and mazes of gates, cultures clashing and mixing all around him. Queuing to have his passport - well, Alfred's passport - checked was an experience in itself; a pack of girls behind him would not stop giggling and cooing at him, batting their eyelashes and attempting to slip their phone numbers into his pocket. It was rather unnerving, and as soon as the passport was accepted, he ran out as fast as he could and found cover behind a group of German tourists to hide from the gaggle of raging hormones that had not left him alone since he left the plane.

Sweat began to trickle down the side of his face, not because he was too hot, but because he was nervous. The only barrier left to get through was baggage claim, and then after that there was nothing in his way besides his own fear and anxiety. The longer he had to wait for his luggage to travel along the conveyer system, the bigger his worry grew.

They were a few metres away from each other now. Just beyond that door and around the corner was his dad, Arthur Kirkland, the man he didn't truly know existed until that fateful day in his father's office. Was he how Alfred described? Did his eyebrows really bristle like a startled cat when he was irritated, was his voice really like water running over fine sandpaper? Would he like Matthew because he wanted to, not because he had to? Would he like him at all? Matthew knew that Alfred would never lie to him. So why was he this worried? Matthew was so lost in his own head that he didn't realise his bag had gone around the conveyer twice already without him noticing.

Lugging his bag onto the floor beside him, he took a deep breath. Come on, Matthew, he urged himself. You can do this. Just be Alfred. That's all you have to do. Mustering his strength, he pulled the bag up onto his shoulder, span around, and waltzed into the arrivals hall.

Panic quickly settled in when he couldn't see him. There were very little people in the hall, much to his surprise, the majority of passengers seemingly having dashed off as soon as they were able to go. Only a few small groups of tourists and expectant relatives filled the shops and seating areas, but none of them were short and blonde with bright green eyes and a disgruntled expression on their face. Matthew zig-zagged through the rows and rows of chairs, peering at the strangers to see if he recognised any of them and getting steadily more annoyed and nervous when he discovered that he did not. 

After several minutes of searching, Matthew resigned to sitting on one of the seats, tapping his foot in time with the clock on the wall, firmly believing that he had gone wrong somewhere and was stranded in a foreign country with no way back home. Logic told him that perhaps he was just late or caught in traffic, but as the seconds ticked on he became more unsure about the whole situation. He bit his nails and stared at the floor, his throat tight and dry.

A large crash made him jump so hard he almost fell out of his chair. A metal cart loaded to the brim with fizzy drinks and packets of bottled water for the vending machines that lined the hall had fallen over, sending jets of liquid shooting across the room and all over the floor. Plastic bottles scattered in every direction. Matthew watched as a group of helpers assembled around the poor employee that had knocked the cart over to gather the escaping drinks, chuckling quietly to himself whenever someone slipped over in the small puddles that had formed around them.

It was then that a flash of yellow caught his eye amongst the crowd. At the back of the group crouched a man who was wiping up a pool of what looked like coke with a packet of tissues he had pulled from inside his coat. Below his coat he wore a plain white shirt and black tie pressed underneath a knitted green sweater, as well as black suit trousers and shoes so clean that light reflected brightly off of them. Standing up to get a better look, Matthew's felt like his heart had stopped when he saw that the man, as well as having blonde hair, had the brightest emerald eyes Matthew had ever seen, blinking in the light beneath a wild mess of thick and bushy hair.

He froze. Oh God, it's him. It was actually him! Matthew thought his heart was going to pound out of his chest. He didn't know what to do, what Alfred would do, so he just stood there in the centre of the arrival hall with a blank look on his face, watching his father as he mopped up the floor and rose to put the dripping tissues in a nearby bin. 

"Shit."

Arthur went back to the startled employee and asked if they were alright, lifting the woman off of the floor and helping her tip the cart upright. Matthew could have laughed. Such a gentleman, just like Alfred said. What little breath was left in his lungs was wiped out completely when Arthur turned his head and his eyes met Matthew's. His smile was enough to make all thoughts of doubt within Matthew dissolve instantly.

"Alfred!" Arthur called out, making Matthew's skin prickle as a chill ran down his spine. His father departed from the aiding group, making his way towards the still and silent Canadian in a brisk walk that Matthew found as fascinating as he did hilarious. He didn't want to blink in case it was all a dream, afraid that if he closed his eyes he would open them to find himself back in the isolation cabin at camp. When Arthur was stood in front of him, he was certain that he would pass out if his heart beat any faster.

"So sorry I'm late. The traffic was bloody awful," the Brit said, checking his watch before looking back at Matthew, eyebrows furrowed. Dear God, those eyebrows. They were like large hairy caterpillars. Matthew couldn't stop the smile that stretched across his face at the sight of them. "Who drives a tractor near an airport? What are they farming, immigrants? Anyway, how- hey!"

Matthew didn't let him finish before he tackled the man in a very Alfred-like hug, almost sending them both tumbling to the floor. If it wasn't for Arthur, who had gripped the seat beside them to brace himself, Matthew was sure they would have done exactly that. 

"Bloody hell, Alfred! Steady on, lad," Arthur cried out, but Matthew barely heard him over the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. Arthur's clothes smelled of old books and smoke, and Matthew held him tighter because, oh God, he was his father and he was here and he was everything Matthew had ever dreamed of and so much more. The pair of arms that wrapped around him was the best feeling in the world.

A laugh broke from Arthur's lips. "Chin up, lad. People are staring," he said, making Matthew release him and take a step back.

"Sorry dad. I just, I missed you so much," Matthew replied, wiping his damp eyes with his sleeve. "It feels like I haven't seen you in forever."

His father raised an eyebrow. "Nonsense. We spoke on the phone just last week," he said, placing a hand on Matthew's shoulder that sent a burning sensation through his skin. Matthew grinned and put his hand on his father's, feeling the roughness of the skin beneath his fingers. 

"I know, but, I mean like, actually see you. See you right here in front of me with your… your stupid accent, and that dumb sweater. And your eyebrows. Your massive ass eyebrows."

Arthur wasn't impressed. "Oi. Enough of that cheek, you," he berated, wagging a finger at his son. The tugging of his lips betrayed that he wasn't as annoyed as he let on. He bent down to pick up Alfred's bag, stumbling a little when he realised how heavy it actually was. "Now, come on," he grunted as he stepped towards the exit. "Let's go. You have a lot to tell me about, I'm sure."

And so, Matthew followed his father out of the airport and into the maze of cars to locate their own, watching in amusement as Arthur swore horrendously at a passing taxi that nearly knocked them over. Even the lengthy drive into London, which Matthew had previously been dreading with every fibre of his being, was like a walk in the park. The Canadian found that it didn't take much to pretend to be Alfred, just an increase in volume and an air of obliviousness. As far as Arthur was concerned, he was chatting with the child he had raised for sixteen years, not the one he had to give away.

Matthew went over everything he had done during his time at camp, leaving out the whole 'let's-get-our-parents-back-together' shenanigans, of course. Arthur was quick to notice the slight bump in Matthew's nose from where it had broken, causing Matthew to create a fake yet somewhat believable story of how a friendly game of baseball went sour when the opposing team lost. "Bloody Americans and their ridiculous sports," he grumbled in reaction, not before proclaiming that none of it would have happened if they had been playing a noble sport like cricket, to which Matthew laughed off in a way that Alfred would have been proud of.

The topic of camp faded when they got steadily deeper into the winding streets of London town. Matthew had never been there before, and he was so in awe at the beauty of the history and culture that pulsated around every corner that he was asked several times whether he was alright, due to him being so quiet. He quickly solved this problem when they passed a certain fast food restaurant.

"It seems like camp didn't make you any quieter," Arthur mumbled after Matthew loudly pointed out for the seventh time that he was dying for a McDonalds. In true Alfred fashion, Matthew let out a melodramatic sigh and flopped his head back against the car seat.

"Dude, I'm just so hungry. All they gave us at camp was like, salad and shit. It was depressing."

The corners of Arthur's lips curled. "I assume you ate it all the same."

"Well, duh. I wasn't going to let it go to waste. I ain't about that life," he replied, staring at the older man like his comment was the stupidest thing he had heard as of late. Feeling like he shouldn't press on, but knowing fully well that Alfred would, Matthew nudged his father in the arm with his elbow. "And hey, anything's better than your cooking. Even soggy rabbit food."

"Cheeky git!" Arthur exclaimed, reaching over to Matthew to slap him upside the head. It hurt, but Matthew laughed and swatted him away anyway, because well, that's what Alfred would have done. "I'll have you know, my cooking is exemplary. Your taste buds are just buggered from all the cancer-inducing rubbish you young people scoff all the time."

"Yeah, whatever." Matthew brushed off his comment with the flick of his wrist. From what Alfred had told him, the man was only in his late thirties, yet the Brit spoke like a man beyond his years. "You know," said Matthew, grinning up at his dad with a look of pure affection, "I've missed your old man talk."

Arthur's brow furrowed. He didn't say anything in reply, just turned the wheel and carried on observing the road and the vehicles in front of them. But Matthew knew that he had missed Alfred a lot over the past few weeks. He just had too much pride to say it.

The car was quiet for the remainder of the journey. Matthew found satisfaction enough in staring out of the window and watching the memorials and big red buses zoom past him in a flurry of colour. Every now and then he would look over to the man driving the car, stifling his amusement at how his forehead wrinkled in annoyance when a pedestrian cut in front of them, loving those few moments when Arthur turned to him and smiled, reaching down pat Matthew's leg affectionately before returning to the wheel. Sleep soon crept over him, and before he closed his eyes, one thought blossomed in his head.

He could not think of a time in which he had been happier.

 

*

 

When Matthew had first described the personalities of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and Gilbert Beilschmidt to Alfred during their time in camp, Alfred had believed that they would be the coolest people he would ever meet. 

First off, Antonio was a model, and a darn good one at that. Throughout all of the photos that he had seen, there was never one where the Spaniard looked the slightest bit messy or unkempt, and even if he did look a little riled and out-of-place, he was so in a way that could still be considered stylish, and even a little bit sexy. Despite not being known to a great extent outside of Spain and a few of its surrounding countries, he was a celebrity in Alfred's eyes. To him, a famous person is a famous person, no matter where they came from. 

As for Gilbert, Alfred could proudly say that he was pretty much everything he wanted to be. Rebellious and handsome, the German was heralded as being of equal craziness to that of a rock star, or so Matthew claimed. His bad-boy demeanour and 'you-only-live-once' life policy was enough to have Alfred completely and utterly hooked on the idea that Gilbert would be the most fun he could ever have. Plus he was an engineer, and Alfred knew way more than just a few facts about cars. The classy and the crazy - what was not to love?

So when he saw the two men saunter into the entrance to the arrivals hall of the airport, spinning heads and winking at a passing group of female tourists, who all spluttered into fits of giggles, Alfred could not have been more excited. Flicking his hair out of his face, the sun dancing off of the thick curls, Antonio was even more good looking in person, and the way Gilbert rolled up the sleeves of his leather jacket to reveal bold tattoos that covered his skin in rivers of ink, biting his pierced lip between his teeth, had Alfred practically bouncing up and down in his seat. How these men were almost forty was a mystery. They were way too cool to be the same age as the frumpy tea-sipping figure that was his dad.

Well, Alfred had thought that until Antonio tripped over a baby's pram and was sent crashing to the floor, grabbing onto Gilbert and dragging him along with him, also accompanied by the pram itself. From that moment onwards he wasn't quite sure what to think of the simple Spaniard and his daft German friend.

Thankfully, the baby was not in the pram when it was sent furling to the ground. But that did not stop the parents being any less furious.

Antonio spewed streams of apologies as he scrambled up from the tangle of limbs. "¡Dios mío, oh no, Dios mío, lo siento! Are they alright? I am so sorry, please forgive me!" he pleaded, completely forgetting about his friend who lay splayed out on the floor. Stepping backwards to avoid the angry fist of the child's father, he stumbled over Gilbert and toppled again, only this time landing on the German's stomach, making Gilbert grunt and swear violently as the air was knocked from his lungs.

People stopped to watch the developing chaos. Alfred had to muster all his self-control not to slap his palm into his face. It was disturbing how quickly these seemingly flawless individuals turned into bumbling fools that scrapped around on the floor in the middle of a crowded airport, finding it a struggle just to stand up straight. Oh well, Alfred sighed to himself. It was fun while it lasted.

When at last the couple had accepted the pair's hurried apologies and Antonio and Gilbert were finally stood securely on their own two feet, Alfred picked up his suitcase and walked calmly over to them, trying in vain to hide his broad grin. The whole scene, although relentlessly embarrassing in every shape and form possible, was probably one of the funniest things Alfred had seen in his entire life. He wanted nothing more than to run over to them and pull the pair into a massive hug that conveyed both pure happiness and sympathy, but realising that it wasn't something Matthew would do, he smothered his burst of sudden energy and steadily made his way over to the men he considered to be his uncles.

They didn't notice him at first, which at first Alfred was a little offended about. But seeing as he was Matthew and not Alfred, he quickly felt proud that he could play off being the Canadian so well that he even admitted the same lack of presence. Alfred was surprised to find that they were both slightly shorter than him; they had looked far taller in Matthew's pictures, and even when they entered the airport did they appear to tower over the majority of the people around them. Maybe Europeans were a lot shorter than he had imagined.

Gilbert was berating Antonio for being such an idiot when Alfred let out a quiet cough, making the German stop partway through slapping his friend around the back of the head and turn around to face him. An instant grin broke onto his pale face. "Hey, kiddo. Long time, no see."

"Bonjour, Gilbert," Alfred said, his voice no louder than a whisper to mimic Matthew's barely audible speech. It seemed to have been quite convincing, for no sooner did the words leave his lips did Gilbert wrap and arm around his shoulders and pull him into a hug. "It's good to see you again," Alfred beamed, causing Gilbert to laugh and ruffle his hair before releasing him.

Antonio was equally as ecstatic to see Alfred as the American was to see him. "Matthew! It has been far too long!" the Spaniard squealed before grabbing Alfred by his face and placing a light kiss on each cheek, pulling him into an even tighter hug than Gilbert's. "You are never going away again! No, I will not allow it," he chirped into Alfred's neck. Laughing quietly in response, Alfred wrapped his arms around him. 

"I've missed you too. Both of you."

Drawing back, Antonio gazed into Alfred's face, his hands still cupping the boy's cheeks. "Still as handsome as ever, Matthew. I am glad that camp has not changed you too much."

Gilbert rolled his eyes and slapped Antonio on the back, making the Spaniard shriek and jump away from Alfred. "Stop gushing. If you keep pissing about we'll never fucking leave," he groaned, bending over to pick up Matthew's luggage, which he lugged over his shoulder with almost no effort at all. "I'd rather not get murdered by Francis when we keep him away from his kid for longer than we need to."

At the mention of Francis, Alfred stiffened. He was so distracted by the presence of his uncles that he had forgotten about the reason he had flown to France in the first place. A mixture of fear and excitement pooled in his stomach. Oh God, he was actually doing this. It was actually happening. After being apart for so long, he was going to meet his father for the first time in sixteen years.

"Matthew? Are you alright?" Antonio asked, peering into Alfred's face. Alfred nodded slowly despite feeling like he was going to vomit right then and there. 

"It feels like forever since I last saw Papa," he muttered, hoping that it was enough to satisfy their worries and not make him speak again.

"Then let's not make it forever and a day, ja? Come on, kiddo."

Swallowing his nerves, Alfred smiled briefly before following Antonio and Gilbert across the hall and out into the hammering European heat. And boy was it hot. Gilbert's car was like a sauna when Alfred slipped inside, the air so thick and humid that he felt like he couldn't breathe. When Matthew warned him about the temperature difference, Alfred didn't think that it would be so hot that his hair would plastered to his forehead in a matter of seconds. He was in France, right? Not the Amazon rainforest? Wasn't France meant to be all snowy and cold? Or was that Switzerland? Where even was Switzerland? Alfred was so warm that he was certain his brain had fried to a crisp within in his skull.

When they drove away from the crowded French towns and moved into the rural country freeway roads, Gilbert picked up speed and soon fresh, cold air was billowing through the windows, cooling Alfred down and allowing him to relish in the picturesque French countryside. The landscape was gorgeous; lush green fields flowed into enormous mountains that cut through the sky like a hand breaking through the surface of the ocean; shimmering lakes gleamed like jewels in the sun. Small crops of houses jutted out across the horizon, and the closer they travelled to their destination the lower the sun got to the endless stretch of land until they touched, the clouds dyed a flurry of gold, pink and blue. The fields were then replaced with grape vines, switching between a crisp green and a bruising purple. Alfred was certain he would never see a sight so beautiful.

The car followed the freeway for just over an hour before they turned into a thin country lane that twisted and turned in, out and around the fields and farms like a stream of stone. The road was shadowed by thick trees, casting shadows over them as they drove closer to Alfred's impending fate. The urge to cry out and ask whether they were nearly there yet was overwhelming, but Alfred remained silent, listening to the French folk music that came from the car radio. They had been driving for almost two hours. Antonio seemed to sense his impatience.

"Just a few more minutes, Matthew. Half an hour at most, okay?"

Finally, just as Alfred was starting to go insane, he spied a familiar looking building in the distance. It was a pure white villa, placed at the edge of a grassy hill that led to a large stretch of grape fields. The sun hovered just above it, painting the hill and building a golden yellow. Alfred leapt forward, craning his head as far as it would go to take in more of the heavenly sight. God, it was spectacular. Matthew didn't know how lucky he was to live in a place like this, even if it was only during summer. To wake up to such a view every day was worth more than anything Alfred had ever owned.

The car climbed up the road, which had gotten steeper the closer they got to the hilltop house. The feelings of anxiety that had disappeared before began to churn within his gut. This has to be dream, he tried to reason with himself. This is too good to be true. He pinched the back of his hand to make sure he wasn't back in his cabin in America. He bit his lip when his skin began to sting.

They stopped just outside the main door. A flight of marble steps led up to it, the door itself framed with ripe honeysuckle that dripped sap onto the gravelled driveway. Alfred's hands began to shake as he opened the car door and pulled himself out to stand on wobbly legs. He couldn't take his eyes off of the door. Just behind it, only a few metres away, was the man he had been missing for his entire life. Sweat spilled down his spine. A hand on his shoulder nearly made him jump out of his skin.

"Drawing room. Go on, he's waiting for you."

Nodding at Gilbert, Alfred took a deep breath and walked towards the door, skipped up the steps, pushed against the wood, and stepped inside.

He knew exactly where the drawing room was, recalling the posters and photos he had so often observed within the isolation cabin back at camp. Even though he had gazed over the rooms and furniture a million times during those days, to see it all for himself was simply mind blowing. The entrance led straight into the sitting room, with doors either side of him that led to the kitchen on his right and the bedrooms on his left. The walls were a cool baby blue, like a spring sky. Stepping deeper inside, he inhaled scents of clean cotton and baking bread. Glancing around in awe, his eyes flicked to an open door across from him. He wasted no time in sprinting over to it and entering what he knew to be the drawing room.

The room was a pale lilac, light from the open patio doors reflecting off of a white grand piano that sat in the centre of the room. Curtains were floating in the summer breeze, and between them, leaning against the edge of a small balcony with a glass of wine in his hand, stood the very man Alfred had travelled over 4000 miles to see.

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. All he could do was utter one, little word.

"Papa?"

Hearing his voice, the man turned around. His soft eyes shone in the light. Placing his glass on the balcony, Francis walked into the drawing room and held his arms open wide, the truest and most gentle of smiles on his lips. "Mathieu, my child. I have missed you so."

No sooner had the words left him, Alfred had ran across the room and straight into his father's arms, forgetting all about pretending to be Matthew, forgetting about everything he had ever known or believed to be true. Because, dear Lord, he was there with his Papa, there at last, and he was crying and he couldn't stop himself from collapsing into a fit of tears, because he had done it. He had finally made it there to the place he had needed to be since he was a child. His father was holding him, stroking his hair, uttering to him words that he could in no way understand but felt like he had known his entire life. God, he had to be dreaming. He had to be.

"Mathieu. Est-ce vraiment toi?"

Oh no, he was speaking to him in French. Panic swelled within him and for a second he froze, his mind blank of everything but the sound of Francis' voice, the feel of his arms wrapped tightly around him, the sweet fragrance of lavender and icing sugar that filled his lungs.

"Oui, Papa. Je suis là."

Francis chuckled and moved back, holding Alfred's face within his hands. He leaned forward to kiss the tears that fell down Alfred's cheeks before placing another on his forehead, pulling Alfred back into his embrace.

"Je suis content de te retrouver mon petit lapin. Tu m'as tellement manqué."

Alfred buried his face into the dip of his father's neck. He could not think of a time in which he had been happier.


	14. Chapter 14

When Matthew awoke, it was already hours past midday. The sun was just beginning to sink back down into the horizon, hanging low in the sky and casting fiery orange shadows across the clouds. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pushed himself up against the mattress and flopped around to swing his legs over the edge of Alfred's bed.

At first, he didn't know where he was. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he blinked around the room, confused as to why his bedroom walls were a deep red instead of white, why they were covered from floor to ceiling with posters of sports cars, superheroes and busty models, why his head had been resting against a pillow patterned with the American flag as he slept. The air smelled like cheap body spray and sweat, courtesy of the piles of dirty washing that were stacked like Empire State bedside the bed. It didn't look anything like his room. Where even was he? When he remembered, a smile broke onto his face.

He was in Alfred's house. He had actually made it! He had met his dad at last. It was too good to be true, and yet there he was. Matthew laughed and fell on his back onto the bed, taking clumps of hair in his hands. 

"Mon Dieu…This is actually happening!" 

Finally, after all this time, he had met his other dad. Excitement bubbled through him and he couldn't help but smile as he thought about where he was and the man he had met the day before. There was so much he had to do, so much he had to say that he felt like he would burst if he didn't run downstairs and tackle the Englishman in a bone-crushing embrace so tight that he could never let go. It took all his strength to calm himself down and remind himself that he couldn't do that. Not yet, anyway.

A faint whistle followed by a loud bark made Matthew turn his head to the door. His father must be downstairs. Feeling something tingle in his stomach, Matthew stood up and walked over to the wardrobe, opening it and rolling his eyes when he found yet another poster, this time advertising a video game that Matthew had noticed on one of the shelves above the tv and game console that sat on a chest of drawers opposite the bed. Pulling out a pair of black sweatpants, he closed the wardrobe door and slipped them onto his legs. Satisfied with his clothing, he span around and waltzed out of the room. He was so used to having a full corridor before his bedroom in France that he almost fell right down the stairs outside the door as he came out of Alfred's room, causing him to grip onto the banister to stop him from flying down in a tangled heap. "Phew. Close one." He composed himself before stomping down in an Alfred-like manner, shuffling around the corner when he reached the bottom and stepping into the sitting room.

Matthew wasn't surprised when he first entered the house to find it completely overflowing with books. There were books almost everywhere he looked; on the floor, stacked in towers against the olive walls; piled on top of each other beside the couch and on the surface of the tv in the sitting room; slotted between the banisters of the stairs, at least six per step, Matthew counted. Even the grandfather clock that stood ticking in the hallway was forced ajar by the stream of Shakespeare that poured from beneath the swaying pendulum. There were more books in the kitchen than there were pots and pans, although that was apparently a good thing considering Arthur's infamous skills in that particular area, or lack thereof. The tang of aging paper and dust hovered in the air, and Matthew found it rather comforting as he stepped through the house and explored all he could find before collapsing into sleep, exhausted by jetlag. The whole house was a miniature, rustic library, and it made Matthew's head spin at how brilliant it was.

Arthur was sat in an armchair beside the canted bay window, his feet propped on top of a pile of books. He was reading, unsurprisingly, wrapped in a worn dressing gown that covered his black slacks and white shirt, of which was open and without a tie. The novel he held gently within his hands was one by Hemingway, the cover having faded of colour over time, curling at the edges, proving that it had been read on more than just this occasion. A beam of light spilled between the partly closed curtains, shining off of the golden reading glasses that were perched on his nose, his long eyelashes brushing against the glass. Matthew froze in the doorway to take in this image. He had never seen one like it before, and was afraid he would never see it again. His admiration was cut short when Scotty, the creatively named Scottish Deerhound, lifted his head from where he lay snoozing by Arthur's feet and growled viciously in Matthew's direction, making Arthur look over the edge of his book and raise a brow at the boy frozen in the door frame.

"Good morning. Or should I say otherwise?" he sighed, taking his glasses off and placing them on the window ledge before picking up a steaming teacup and taking a sip. Matthew shrugged and shuffled half-heartedly over to sit on the couch, tugging his legs underneath him. Scotty let out a harsh bark, leading Arthur to swat at him with his free hand. 

"Dude. Jetlag totally fucked me over," Matthew yawned, rubbing his face before scratching the back of his head. Arthur frowned over the rim of his cup.

"Language, Alfred."

He ignored the man's comment, believing it to be something Alfred would do. Yawning again, he blinked around the room. "What time even is it?"

Arthur put his teacup back in the ledge and glanced at the watch on his wrist. "Around half past five, give or take a few minutes," he said before picking up his book and glasses, sliding the frame onto his nose and starting to read once again. Matthew stretched his arm over his head.

"Aren't you meant to be working?" he asked. Arthur sighed and turned a page.

"I'm having a tea break."

Matthew nodded. "Good," he stated. They sat in an awkward silence for a while, Arthur curled up in his chair and Matthew watching him while he read, not knowing whether he should speak or not. Scotty stretched and yawned before getting up and trotting over to Matthew, resting his head on Matthew's knee. Still looking at his father, Matthew scratched the dog's ear, smiling when he heard the animals pants of approval.

He found the whole scene calming, especially that of the man sat before him. The way his forehead creased and how he tapped his finger on the edge of the book in time with the grandfather clock in the hall was seemingly fascinating to him. Perhaps it was because it was a sight he had never seen before, one he so desperately wanted to hold on to his mind. If he looked away now, he might forget.

He wanted to make the most of his time with his father before he had to leave. "Dad?" he suddenly said. Arthur hummed and nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off of his book. "Can we do something today?"

Arthur turned to look at him, his green eyes shielded by the light that reflected off the lenses of his glasses. "Alfred, it's almost six o'clock-"

"I know, but… Can't we go to the movies or something? Or go see a play? I haven't seen you for ages and… I don't know. I just want to spend some time with you, is all."

The man sighed, taking off his glasses and placing it in his mouth, nibbling the end. "A play sounds nice," he replied after a few moments of thinking, "I suppose we could see one. As long as it's not one of those bizarre contemporary things you like to watch that are more dance than actual acting. The last one gave me a headache for weeks."

Matthew laughed. "Sure thing, Dad."

"I think Hamlet is on near Convent Garden. I haven't seen that in years."

"Sounds cool. I'll go see if they have any tickets."

He went to stand up and hurry to the computer in his room when his belly rumbling stopped him in his tracks. Arthur raised a brow at him from behind his novel. "Man," Matthew whined, "On second thoughts, I need some food first. I am totally starving."

Arthur cleared his throat before turning another page. "You fell right asleep as soon as you got home. You missed dinner yesterday, and breakfast and lunch today. I'd say that's a first for you."

Shooing Scotty away, Matthew rose from the cough and lazily shuffled in the direction of the kitchen. "Do we have any food in this place or what?" he called back over his shoulder. As he walked into the kitchen,, he heard Arthur shuffle in his seat.

"I haven't been able to go shopping yet. But I made some scones for when you woke up. They're in the fridge, so you can have one of them for now,"

Oh no. Alfred had warned Matthew about the scones. Stepping over to the fridge, Matthew gingerly opened it to see what Alfred had so accurately described as 'petrified couch stuffing burned in the fires of hell' piled on a plate and wrapped up in cling film like a little present. Why were they black? He took one look before shutting the door quietly so his father couldn't hear. "What are we going to do for dinner then?" he called. They certainly couldn't eat coal for the rest of the day. Perhaps they'd go to Yao's. Matthew wanted to see what made restaurant owner and his son so special.

Before Arthur could reply, a ringing noise vibrated through the air. "Who would be calling at this hour? Bloody wankers." Matthew heard a sigh followed by the patter of feet, and he went over to the door and peered around the corner to see his dad storming over to a house phone that sat on the other side of the sitting room. "Hello? Kirkland residence," he said in a polite and calm voice when he answered, his gentlemanly impression thwarted by the fact his face was wrinkled into one of pure annoyance and malcontent.

When Arthur's face changed from a look of irritation to one of shock, Matthew became intrigued. He leaned against the frame and crossed his arms over his chest, turning an ear towards the voice coming out of the phone. Whilst he couldn't hear much, Arthur's expressions an responses were interesting enough to have him engaged.

"Miguel? Is that you? How have you been, old chap? It's been a while."

Miguel? Who was Miguel? Oh no…Did Alfred forget to mention someone? Matthew began to panic slightly, running a hand through his hair and spinning around to go back into the kitchen. Oh God, what should he do? He could pretend he had forgotten about them. Alfred was quite forgetful about most things. But what if he was someone Alfred knew really well, like Kiku and his dad, Yao? It would be suspicious if he suddenly knew nothing about them. Then again, if he did meet them often, surely Alfred would have told Matthew about them, right? Damn, things were going wrong before they had even started!

He overheard a few moments of Arthur's conversation as he paced in worry around the kitchen. "Oh. I wish I could but, well… Alfred came back from camp yesterday and we were going to go out together tonight. I'm sorry, maybe another time."

No! Now Matthew was just being a nuisance, stopping his dad from seeing his friend. Arthur would be furious after he discovers Matthew's real identity; not meeting someone close to you because of a complete stranger would certainly annoy Matthew, let alone Arthur. Dashing from the kitchen, Matthew went up to his father and poked him on the shoulder to get his attention. "It's okay. Go have fun with your friend! I'll stay here, I'll be alright on my own. We can go out another time!" he begged, but Arthur shrugged him off.

"Oh, bugger off. I'm sure the man will- wait, sorry?" he said, turning back to the phone when the person on the other end spoke again. "Yes, that's Alfred. Sixteen, why?… I do beg your pardon?… I'm not sure if that-"

"It's fine, Dad, honestly. I can just stay here. Go see your buddy, or whatever."

There were a few beats where no one spoke, Matthew shaking his dad's shoulder and Arthur swatting him away in protest before the Brit sighed and pinched the bridge between his nose. Suddenly, he turned to Matthew, his brow furrowed.

"Alfred. Miguel has asked if we would like to have dinner with him tonight."

Matthew blinked a little, letting go of his father's arm. "What, me as well?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, you as well."

He didn't know what to say. "Yeah. Sure," he spluttered out, scratching the back of his neck and swallowing his excitement to try and make himself seem more laid back and casual about the whole thing. Inside he was doing flips. He was going out for a meal with his dad! He was spending time with his dad! Yes, someone else would be there too, but Arthur would be there with him and that was all that mattered. Arthur raised a brow at his son before turning back to the phone.

"Of course, we'll be there. Is 7:30 alright for you?"

Matthew didn't hear the rest of the conversation before he turned on his heels and bounded out of the room and up the stairs to get ready. He was too excited for words.

 

*

 

"So who's this guy we're meeting then?" Matthew asked, peeping his face over the top of the jumper he had tucked under his nose. It was raining, as it so often did in England at any time of year, and Matthew huddled deeper into his hoodie to protect him from the chill of the torrential weather. He could barely see anything half a metre in front of him, the lights from shop windows and faces of the people around him blurred like a watercolour painting, and yet Arthur still insisted that they walked. Fat droplets of water streamed from his father's umbrella and onto his shoulder, proving the journey to be rather an unpleasant one. The man had offered to give Matthew his umbrella, but the Canadian refused. He didn't want to be a bother.

He dodged to the side as Arthur tilted his umbrella to squeeze through a gap between a group of late shoppers, the corners of the object almost poking him instead. "I've told you," Arthur grumbled, gripping the umbrella tighter as a gust of wind threatened to blow him across the street. "He's a friend of mine."

Matthew pulled his hood closer to his ears. The wind and rain had nipped them red, the lobes covered in thick locks of wet hair. "Do I know him?" he asked, licking the water from his lips. The panic from back at the house was still gurgling in his stomach.

"I wouldn't say 'know' him. I haven't seen the man in person for years, so obviously you wouldn't remember him. We have kept in contact, of course, through phone calls and letters and whatnot. Although, the last time we met face to face was when you were still a child."

"So I have met him before?" Matthew asked. He hopped over a puddle, kicking water onto the bottom of Arthur's trousers. The man scowled at him disapprovingly before turning his eyes back to the street and the people he had to swerve around. 

"Yes. But it was a long time ago."

Phew. That was a relief. Matthew was worried that he was walking into a sticky situation that he wouldn't be able to get out of. But if this man didn't know Alfred and Alfred didn't know him, then all would be fine. At least he hoped. "Neat. What's the name again?"

"Carriedo. Miguel Henrique Carriedo,"

Matthew almost slipped over on the wet paving slabs. "C-Carriedo?" he stuttered, stumbling over his feet and grabbing hold of Arthur's arm, sending water spraying everywhere. Carriedo? As in Antonio? The Spaniard had never mentioned having a sibling or cousin. No, he had to be wrong. It must be a popular name in Spain, that's all. There wasn't a connection between them. Right?

"Yes," Arthur replied, raising an eyebrow at his son's sudden trip, his lips stretching into a think line at the sight of his strange expression. "Is there something wrong?"

The Canadian realised that he had been squeezing Arthur's arm throughout the duration of his thoughts. "No!" he stated a little louder than he had predicted, letting go of his father's arm and pulling his hood further onto his head to hide his embarrassment. "Just trying to figure out what kind of name that is…Spanish, right?"

Arthur shook his head. "Portuguese."

If he's Portuguese, then surely he can't be related to Antonio, Matthew reasoned with himself. Despite his attempt at logic, the thought was still nibbling away at his mind. Realising that he had gone unusually quiet, Matthew shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, making Arthur turn to him questionably. "Oh, whatever. They're basically the same thing anyway."

The Englishman drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. "I wouldn't say that if I were you," he said, his voice low in warning. Matthew turned to him, droplets of water dripping off of his nose.

"Why not?"

He raised a bushy eyebrow. "You'd be a bit miffed if someone went around saying that America and Canada are the same thing, wouldn't you?"

Letting out a laugh that hurt his throat, Matthew punched his dad affectionately in the shoulder, causing the man to stumble a little as Matthew nudged him with perhaps too much strength. "Hell yeah. America rocks! No country can compete with the land of the free!" He felt a little ill after saying that.

"I can assure you, there is nothing free about that travesty of a nation."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, old man," Matthew laughed. 

They walked the rest of the way in silence, listening to the white noise of raindrops thundering down on the cars and passers-by that swelled through the streets and roads of London. Dim light burst through the grey clouds. It was just starting to go dark. When the roaring, crimson beast adorning the hanging banner of the Red Lion pub came into view, Matthew couldn't have been more happy. Finally, they could get out of this rain! His rumbling stomach urged him forward.

Matthew had never been to a pub before. His father, Francis, hated them. The Frenchmen talked about them like they were hell condensed into one building, describing the customers as being the dregs of society; obese, balding, smelly, unhygienic slobs that wasted their lives away, always intoxicated, always smoking, always fighting and always causing trouble. When Matthew followed Arthur inside, he quickly realised that this was not the case. In fact, there were more young families and loved-up couples inside the Red Lion than there were middle aged men alone with a pint in their hands. Granted, the majority of these men were warming the bar, slurring their way through pork scratchings and sport commentaries, away from the other people. But they were in no means frightening, unlike the descriptions Francis had given him when he was a child.

That being said, this was just one pub. Matthew was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt.

There was one man at the bar that did not fit in with the other pubgoers around him. Matthew noticed him out of the corner of his eye as his gaze was drawn to the football game being played on a large screen beside the rows of whisky and gin. He had his back facing them, his long hair tied loosely into a ponytail that slipped from where it had once rested on his shoulders, which were broad, muscles threatening to burst through the seams of his suit jacket. Matthew didn't think much of him at first, apart from how strange it was to see a guy so smartly dressed and clean cut sat amongst the row of tipsy hunched men. He didn't think much of him until he looked over his shoulder, saw Arthur, and burst into a smile as wide and warm as the Tagus river.

"Olá, meu amigo! It is so good to see you at last."

Matthew froze. Shit. He looked exactly like Antonio. There were subtle differences, of course. Miguel was slightly shorter than the Spaniard as Matthew could remember, his face was sharper and his features more defined, and a little beauty spot sat just below his right eye, drawing focus to his lime coloured eyes, a lighter shade of green than Antonio's. Nevertheless, for a second Matthew believed that the Spaniard himself was stood before him. He felt a shiver ran down his spine. He didn't know a person could feel this uncomfortable.

Miguel got up from his barstool and walked away from the bar and towards the couple in the doorway, taking Arthur by the face and kissing his cheeks before pulling his friend into a deep hug, laughing and speaking in a language the Canadian didn't quite recognise. Matthew didn't really know what to do, so he just stood there in the entrance, dripping water onto the carpet in little puddles around his feet. Arthur laughed and patted his friend on the back before stepping back and grasping the other in a tight handshake. "You too, Miguel. How've you been, lad?"

"I have been great, thank you for asking. You are well too, I gather?"

"As well as I'll ever be," Arthur chuckled. They broke into a friendly flurry of conversation and further greetings, almost forgetting that the sixteen year old was stood behind them with a look of pure surprise and slight horror. Matthew was so distracted by the unexpected displays of affection in public by the usually uptight and reserved Englishman that he didn't notice when Arthur suddenly turned and gestured for him to come forward. "This is my son, Alfred."

Jumping a little, Matthew composed himself and shuffled forward. He looked so much like Antonio, he didn't know what to say. Panicking, he held out a clenched fist. "'Sup dude?" he blurted out. Arthur rolled his eyes. Oh God, that sounded ridiculous. Matthew was certain that Miguel would think of him as an absolute idiot.

Surprisingly, Miguel smiled and bumped his fist into Matthew's. "Olá, Alfred. It is a pleasure to meet you. You have grown so much since I last saw you," he beamed, clapping a large hand on Matthew's shoulder. Matthew shivered, only just managing to crack a smile. He really needed to stop freaking out.

"You too, bro," he chirped before shrugging the man off and clapping his hands together. "Now, what's on the menu? I'm starving!" he grinned, desperate to get away from the situation as quickly as possible. Arthur whacked him around the back of his head, making Matthew let out a muffled shriek. 

"I do apologise. He hasn't quite grasped the concept of manners yet."

Miguel only laughed. "Não, it is quite alright. In fact, I was thinking the same thing. Come, let's eat! We have a lot to catch up on."

Minutes passed and soon they were placed at a table in a booth at the far end of the pub, shrouded in the semi darkness, the only light they received being that from the fireplace beside them that cast a shadowy warm glow across the table and the people sat there. Once they had ordered their meals and drinks, Arthur and Miguel wasted no time in launching into conversation once again, talking in detail about the things they had experienced in the ten years they were apart. As it turns out, Miguel and Arthur has been roommates at university, and while Arthur had followed a career in literature, Miguel pursued photography, and had travelled all around the world to find the most beautiful sights to capture for eternity. At first, Matthew was completely and utterly on board with everything that came from his mouth. This man had put himself in the most dangerous of situations in order to get the best shot. Hanging from cliffs, running from wild animals, sailing across storm wrecked seas. He was amazing!

Matthew was in awe. But he had to remind himself that he wasn't the photography obsessed Matthew. He was Alfred. So he sat apart from the others, sipping loudly from his drink and nodding every few moments whenever Arthur told him to pay attention.

When the drinks arrived, slowly followed by the steaming bowls and plates of delicious food, Matthew was beginning to feel a little left out. They had been there for an hour and a half, and Matthew had barely said a few words to each of them. It was like he wasn't there at all. This was supposed to be time Matthew could spend with his father for the first time in forever, or several weeks, as far as Arthur was concerned. But instead, Arthur was giving all his attention to Miguel and his charming smile. It wasn't fair! The whole point of him swapping with Alfred was to hang out with his dad, but obviously that was easier said than done, much to Matthew's annoyance.

It was then that he began to get suspicious. What did this Miguel mean to Arthur anyway? They were friends, sure, but the way they looked at each other, the way Arthur's cheeks blushed slightly when Miguel made a comment about him, the lengthy touches and glances between them gave all sorts of mixed signals to Matthew as he pouted over the rim of his glass. Miguel even wiped a stray crumb of pastry from Arthur's steak and ale pie away from the corner of the Englishman's lips with his napkin at one point. Were they really just friends? Or was there something else between them? His father had said that he hadn't seen the man in years, but as he had reasoned before, strong feelings don't always die out completely. Matthew had to find out for sure.

He sat quietly and listened to Arthur and Miguel chatting as they finished their meals. When the last fork had been put down on the table and the final droplets of beer had been consumed, Arthur leaned back and rubbed his hands together. "That was delicious," he exclaimed before shoving his hand in his coat pocket and pulling out his phone, turning it on with the click of a button. "Bollocks."

"What's up, Dad?"

"I missed a call from my editor. You don't mind if I leave for a bit to call her back?"

"Of course not," smiled Miguel. Arthur didn't wait for Matthew's response before getting up from the table and slipping through the nearest fire exit.

This was the moment. Miguel mumbled to himself that he needed another drink, rising from his chair and leaving Matthew alone as he sauntered over to the bar. As soon as his back had turned, Matthew rose himself and followed him. Sliding into a small gap between Miguel and another bar warmer, Matthew tapped him on the shoulder and spoke to him in smooth, flawless, perfectly fluent Spanish.

"So what's the deal with you then?"

It took Miguel a while to process what Matthew had just said. He blinked at Matthew, eyes wide and brow furrowed. "Excuse me?" he replied after a few moments, also in Spanish, his face the picture of confusion and surprise.

"What's your angle?"

"My angle?"

The Canadian leaned against the bar, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Come on, you look like a smart guy. Don't tell me I have to spell it out for you?"

When Miguel did nothing but raised a brow at him, Matthew began to panic slightly. Oh God, had he been too forward? Was he being rude? He wanted to sound like Alfred, but maybe he was coming off too strongly. Oh no, what should he do? If he screwed this up, he'd look like an idiot!

Miguel turned to thank the barman when his drink was placed next to him before glancing back at Matthew, taking a sip of the bitter liquid. 

"Looks can be deceiving."

Swallowing the knot in his throat, Matthew spoke to him again, this time taking a tamer approach than before. "What's your relationship with my Dad?" he asked, hoping that Miguel would respond in kind.

The man beside him let out a laugh. "Relationship?" he repeated. Matthew didn't like how his voice sounded like he was mocking him. Although he probably deserved it for sticking his nose into other people's business, a very Alfred thing to do, he reasoned. "Your old man must have told you about me before you arrived."

Matthew raised an eyebrow and sighed dramatically. "You'd think that, wouldn't you." His leg began to wobble against the barstool. Stop being so nervous, Matthew, he told himself. You can do this.

Miguel took a gulp from his drink and looked over the boy before him, seemingly unimpressed. "You have quite a mouth on you, kid," he snapped, expecting the kid to back down a little. Indeed, Matthew was caught a little off guard and the confidence he was trying to portray slipped slightly. It took him a second to overcome the panic that ran through him and let a smirk stretch from ear to ear. 

"So I've been told."

"This isn't how most people would speak to their elders," Miguel chided. Matthew leaned on his elbows on the edge of the bar, looking Miguel up and down before speaking.

"I'm not most people. And you certainly don't look or act like an elder."

His comment seemed to have pleased Miguel in some way. The man couldn't hide the smirk that crept upon his lips as he took a sip from his glass. Flattery always worked, especially if it was subtle. Matthew knew he would be more open to talk this way, thankfully. "What makes you think I would tell you anything about your father and I?" he mumbled in reply, turning around to hunch over the bar. Matthew shuffled a little closer.

"I'm his son. I would say I have a right to know about my Dad and the people he hangs with. Also I'm like, super bored and I figured that a guy like you would have some interesting stories up his sleeves. Well, more interesting than your ones back there about leaves and fish."

Part of him felt increasingly guilty about what he was doing. Miguel seemed like a pretty nice guy, and one Matthew himself would most likely get along with like a house on fire if it wasn't for the situation he was in. To rile him up like this wasn't very fair. But then again, Matthew needed to know about his past with Arthur in more detail. If they liked each other, it would make his job harder to get Arthur and Francis together. Splitting couples up is a horrible thing to do, even if it would help Matthew personally. He wasn't sure he would be able to do that.

Miguel seemed taken aback by Matthew's comment. He took a large gulp of his beer and rubbed his forehead free of sweat before turning back to Matthew. "You heard us talking, no? I'm his friend, nothing more."

Pondering on what Alfred would say, Matthew let out a forced laugh before replying. "Bullshit. I know sometimes my elevator doesn't go all the way to the top floor, but anyone with the right amount of brain cells can figure out within a second of just watching your conversation that there's more than just a couple of drinks and a few drunken laughs going between you guys. I suggest you spill before Dad walks through that door and I make him tell me himself."

The bar was a little quieter than it was before. Miguel had frozen in his seat, blinking at Matthew like the boy had just spat on him. Oh no, he really had crossed the line! Crap, what was he going to do now? Damn it, he had ruined everything!

Luckily, the silence didn't last long before the man smirked over his glass and glanced at Matthew over his shoulder. "Do you really want to know?"

"Enlighten me," the Canadian replied, not expecting the Portuguese man to lean in close to him and mumble quietly in his ear, his voice thick and heavy like whiskey. "Arthur and I are lovers," he purred. "He is everything I have ever wanted in a man. Funny, intelligent, sexy. He knows just what to do to please a man like me."

For a second, Matthew was fooled. When Miguel leaned away from him, he stared at the man with a look of pure disbelief. Seriously? So he had been right about them. What was he supposed to do now? His chest began to tighten, until he heard a cackle beside him.

"You know, this tough act is very cute. But you really need to work on hiding those emotions, miúdo."

A blush began to creep up Matthew's face. Great. Now he looked like a fool. "No fair…" he grumbled, jumping a little partway through pitying himself when he felt a hand clap him on the shoulder.

"Cool it, amigo. Your father and I are just old friends, I promise."

Still feeling annoyed at himself, Matthew folded his arms on the bar and balanced his chin on top of them, his lip jutting out in a pout. "I'm not your amigo," he hissed, making Miguel scoff as he sipped his beer.

They were quiet. Matthew was feeling extremely dejected as he sat sulking at the bar. He wondered whether he should give up and go back to the table. It was obvious he was going nowhere. He was about to stand up when Miguel spoke to him, stopping him in his tracks.

"Would it stop you making that face if I told you more? he asked, making Matthew lift his head from his arms and look at him in confusion. He didn't know what to say, so just nodded, feeling stunned when Miguel rose from his stool and grabbed his drink before addressing the boy beside him.

"Arthur and I dated during our first year of university. That's all," he announced, pausing for a moment to observe as Matthew gasped and gripped onto the bar to stop himself from toppling over in shock before turning on his heels and marching back over to their table. Matthew scrambled up from his chair and ran after him, tugging on the back of Miguel's suit like a small child desperate for attention. 

"What happened?" he asked, frowning when he was shaken off and glared at over the man's shoulder.

"It's none of your business."

Matthew let out a loud whine and hurried closer, this time yanking on his sleeve, making Miguel freeze and turn to face him. "Oh, come on!" he pleaded. "You can't just say something like that and then stop!"

He took a step back as Miguel stepped closer to him, pulling his sleeve free from Matthew's grip. "You really don't know how to quit, do you, kid?"

"It's one of my many talents."

"Sure it is."

Matthew leapt forward and jabbed him in the back, which didn't seem to do anything, causing him to run around and jump in front of him, stopping Miguel in his tracks. "Tell me."

"No."

Matthew was at a loss. He pulled his best puppy face, trying his hardest to mimic Alfred's seemingly successful begging move. "Please?" he begged, his eyes wide and lips flushed into an adorable pout. This had to work, right?

Evidently not. "You're gonna have to do better than that, amigo," he sighed, brushing Matthew to the side with a wave of his hand and marching over to the table. Matthew couldn't believe what was happening. 

"Come on!" he called over to him as he followed the man over to the table and sat beside him. He leaned over and pulled his beer away, earning him an offended glare. "I won't tell anyone. I'm not a snitch!"

"Enough, kid. It doesn't concern you."

There was silence between them. Miguel had turned his back away to watch the fire flicker and was completely ignoring Matthew. Matthew was starting to believe that this quest for information was a bad one. The process had dragged on, and now Miguel wasn't talking to him. He wasn't sure that the knowledge he had gained was worth making one of his father's closest friends dislike him. What he had learned was too vague to be useful. They had dated, so what? Dates don't necessarily mean there's a connection. And Arthur and Miguel must have dated other people as well, just look at Francis! God, he felt like an absolute moron. This whole idea was stupid to begin with, he grumbled in his head.

Suddenly, a realisation came to him. He almost fell from his chair. Turning to Miguel, he thought for a moment before speaking. 

"Was it because of Francis?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew it was a long shot. There are hundreds of reasons why people break up. But from the startled look that washed over the man next to him, Matthew knew he had hit the nail on the head. 

"Desculpe?" he stuttered, turning his gaze away from the flames and staring at Matthew like the boy had just spat on him. Matthew cleared his throat, which he didn't notice had turned achingly dry.

"Francis. He went to the same university as you, right? You broke up because of him, didn't you?"

There were beats of pause in which Matthew just sat and watched with a black face as Miguel's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, the rest of his body frozen to his seat. Matthew knew what he was thinking. How did this boy discover what he was never supposed to know? How did he know about this man, the person he was never to see again? He could see the gears clicking in his brain. "Well, yes, but…How do you-"

Matthew let out a quiet laugh that could have been mistaken as a weak sigh of hopelessness, but was actually one of deep relief. "You've seen Dad drink, haven't you? You honestly think he could hide all his little secrets from me forever?"

"Wait, what-?"

"Well, that took far longer than it should have done. Right, what say we… What's going on?"

Matthew and Miguel froze under Arthur's questioning gaze. He stood beside the table with his phone in his hand, eyes flitting between his best friend and son in suspicion. They had been staring at each other, and turned their heads to blink at the other man before Matthew sensed the awkwardness around them and gave out a sparkling grin in response to Arthur's scrutinization. "'Sup, Dad. Are we getting dessert?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and shoved his phone in his pocket before sitting down beside Miguel, whose face was still painted with an expression of shock. "Do you ever think of anything besides your stomach?" he droned at Matthew, which did nothing but make the boy's forced grin stretch further. Despite his apparent inconsideration towards his son's comment, he hesitantly picked up the dessert menu from the centre of the table and skimmed through it, trying to hide his irritation at the sight of Matthew's muffled sniggering out the corner of his eye. "The crumble looks quite nice," he mumbled, closing it and tossing it carelessly to Matthew, who took it enthusiastically despite his stomach already being stretched to its limits, before turning to Miguel expectantly to continue their earlier conversation. "Sorry about that. Anyway, where were we? Ah yes…"

The did end up ordering dessert, much to Matthew's horror. Well, only Matthew did. When the large double chocolate fudge brownie ice cream sundae supreme was placed in front of him, he turned a sickly shade of green, horrified at what he was about to consume. His change in colour was even noticed by his father, who exclaimed joy at the prospect at finding a meal that could stump the great Alfred Kirkland once and for all. Of course, Matthew ate it all. His stomach churned and his jaw ached, but eventually he had swallowed every spoonful of the monstrous dessert. What drove him forward were the sideways glances of suspicion being thrown his way across the table. Miguel couldn't take his eyes off of him. It was rather unnerving

When he finally finished, it was almost ten o'clock. There was a silent yet unanimous agreement that it was probably time to call it a day. Matthew could not have been happier, although he doubted his stomach could survive the short walk home. The trio rose from the table and made their way over to the bar to collect the bill and split the cost of their evening, Matthew a few paces behind as every step made his bulging tummy gurgle and throb. Why did Alfred have to eat so much? How had he not exploded by now? Matthew had bypassed green completely and had plummeted into an off shade of grey. Not that anyone noticed. Arthur and Miguel were too busy fawning over their goodbyes to even look at the sickly teen. If Matthew wasn't trying so hard not to throw up, he would have complained in the same way Alfred would have.

Standing in the middle of the car park, Miguel pulled Arthur into one last tight embrace. "It was so good to see you after all this time, amigo," he cooed before releasing his friend and holding him by the shoulders. "You must come out of the office of yours again and see me sometime."

Arthur waved his closed umbrella dismissively, his gesture a little too loose for him to be considered fully sober. "Enough of the worrying. I'm always out of the office. I even had a tea break today, ask Alfred," he replied, his words a little slurred as he pointed lazily at his son. Miguel only laughed. After all these years, Matthew figured the man was used to Arthur's antics. 

He pulled his hand away from Arthur's shoulder and gave one last longing look at his friend before smiling and stepping away from him. "I'm in London for a month. You had better see me again before I leave, amigo!" he called out as he backed away from the father and son, suddenly turning to Matthew and addressing him. "Take care of your papai, Alfred! He means the world to me!" he shouted with his hand in the air, his chuckles heard clearly over the beeping cars and hum of the city as Arthur spluttered over Miguel's remark. Matthew didn't say anything back, just waved and watched as Miguel walked slowly through the car park and disappeared onto the rivers of people that clouded the streets.

Matthew and Arthur left a moment after. Looking back, Matthew was glad they had used their initiative and walked instead of taking the car to their destination. Arthur had barely consumed a pint and a half of bitter, yet his hunched shoulders and slight stumbling as they steadily made their way towards home betrayed to Matthew that the Brit wasn't quite in the right mind for much besides slouching and complaining loudly about the apparently pitiful driving of those on the road. 

Matthew found it rather amusing to hear the colourful words, see the exaggerated frown that was scrunched on his face and the flecks of blonde hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration. The alcohol made his emerald eyes shine brighter in the night, glowing like the neon signs that outlined the shops they passed like a brilliant aura. Matthew couldn't stop smiling. His father was more amazing and perfect than he could have imagined. Alfred was lucky to have known him for his entire life.

At the thought of his brother, the flicker of a spark flashed in his brain. A question had been itching him for the entire night. Reaching over, he tugged Arthur's coat sleeve, stopping him partway through grumbling about politics and making him turn to face him. "What is it?" he asked, dodging between a lamp post and a group of clubbers before swerving back to walk beside his son.

Matthew looked at him. "Dad. Does Miguel have a brother?" he said. He felt Arthur stiffen suddenly beside him.

"Why do you ask?" Arthur mumbled. He seemed to be walking a lot slower now, his voice quieter and his movements less brash than before, as if the question had stumped him. Shrugging his shoulders, Matthew shoved his hands deeper into his jumper pocket. "I don't know. He just seems like the brotherly type."

When they began to walk in silence, Matthew was certain that he had been too overly confident in receiving an answer. Arthur didn't seem to be impressed with his response, a bushy eyebrow having been raised at his son in a look of disbelief and suspicion. Now he appeared to be avoiding Matthew's gaze. The atmosphere was tight as they walked between the night owls of London that surged around them. After what felt like forever of tension between them, Matthew had just begun to accept the futility of his want to confirm his thoughts when Arthur finally spoke.

"Yes, he does."

Matthew's head span around to look at him. Arthur seemed almost pensive, as if remembering something from a time long ago. Matthew nodded slowly before turning his head away. "What's his name?"

"Antonio."

Before he could respond, something vibrated on the Canadian's fingers, stopping him before any sound left his lips. Pulling Alfred's phone from his pocket, his eyes widened in shock at the familiar number on the screen. He wasted no time in answering, his heart thumping hard when he heard the words echoing into his ear.

"Mattie. We have a problem."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this story that was ever posted on this site. Chapter 15 is like 85% written, so I'm going to finish that one and post it in a few days. Besides that, no other chapters of this story have been written. If I update this story again, everything will be brand new and original.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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